The Age Of Odin

Mrs Keener caught his arm. 'No, Bergelmir. Not now. Not like this. I reckon Gid deserves something a little more… exotic. And I have just the thing in mind.'

'He is mine,' stated the frost giant leader, towering over her. 'Mine by right. He killed my Leikn.'

She was not intimidated. 'And you can officiate at his death, I promise. The job of executioner's yours. But I'd like it to be elaborate — ceremonial — and that's something we have to prepare for. It won't take long to built the apparatus we're gonna use. Once that's set up, he's all yours.'

Bergelmir considered this, finally nodding. 'A pleasure deferred is a pleasure increased.'

'Attaboy. Now, haul his sorry carcass off to Nagelfar. Stick him in one of the troop cabins, and make sure he's well guarded. As for the rest of this crowd, back to the castle with them. And make sure they're well guarded too. I'm not anticipating any misbehaviour, but you can't be too careful.'

As Bergelmir frogmarched me past her, I said, 'You'd better keep your promise, Loki. Or…'

Mrs Keener arched one plucked-to-a-perfect-comma eyebrow. 'Or…? You ain't got an 'or' to threaten me with, Gideon. You ain't got jack spit. But,' she added, 'when I make a deal with somebody, I always keep my end of it. Well, pretty much always.'

It was all the assurance I was going to get.

It would have to do.

Sixty-Seven

The cabin was deep within Nagelfar's bowels. It had a hard bunk, no porthole, a dim lightbulb, a solid metal door. A snapshot of a toddler was Blu-Tacked to one wall. A pair of size 12 Converse trainers sat on the floor, waiting for an owner who was in all probability not returning.

No less than four frost giants were posted outside. I paced. I was going nowhere; pacing was all I had. Back and forth, back and forth. Seven steps one way, seven steps the other.

More than once the phrase What the fuck have you done, Gid? jangled through my head. Sacrificing myself to save everyone else wasn't something that came naturally. One of the first rules of soldiering: never volunteer. A motto which surely applied to executions more than anything.

The decision, however, had seemed logical at the time, and still did, just about. Nobody else could have struck the same deal, because nobody else had pissed off Mrs Keener quite like I had. In that sense, I hadn't had a choice. I hadn't been trying to be big and clever, I'd simply played the one measly bargaining chip I had left — myself.

I racked my brains over and over. Not long from now, a few hours perhaps, maybe less, I was going to die. Horribly. There was no either-or about that, no debate. But was there possibly some way I could use it to turn things around? Was there still a chance of redeeming the situation to some small extent?

After a while, when I'd paced enough and thought enough, I banged on the door. I demanded at the top of my voice to see Mrs Keener. The frost giant guards told me to go and perform some very uncomfortable acts. I persisted. Eventually they got tired of me making a nuisance of myself and one of them went off to fetch her.

'What's going on?' Mrs Keener said as she entered the cabin. 'There a problem with the accommodation?'

'Not as such. The place smells like old jockstraps, but apart from that, no real complaints.'

'Well, I am just so sorry, Gideon. Soldiers ain't always that big on their hygiene. I'd've lent you the use of the stateroom, 'cept that's mine. 'Course, you'd have even more to complain about if this was the real Nagelfar. Sides and decks of that ship are covered with fingernails and toenails, like fish scales, and the crew's all ghosts.'

'I should count myself lucky, then, when you put it like that.'

'Me too. I didn't take a fancy to travelling about in something quite so ghoulish. Wouldn't suit the way I am now. Same way I wasn't keen on wrangling proper monsters like Fenrir and Jormungand to attack Asgard with. I'm a fine, upstanding Southern lady. Don't need to be consorting with low, savage beasts, not when I can have stylish vehicles made for me that do the exact same job but with far less of the fussing and griping and cajoling.'

'You actually believe you're Lois Keener, don't you?'

'Most of the time, yes,' she replied, with casual frankness. 'I've been wearing her skin so long, she and me have become one. That's a figure of speech, by the way — wearing her skin. I ain't Ed Gein or that queer fella outta Silence of the Lambs. I've adopted her form and I'm so at home in it now that sometimes I can scarce recall how I used to look.'

'And she's dead, I suppose, the real Mrs Keener.'

'As a doornail. I killed her with my own two hands in her kitchen and buried the body in the woods out behind the yard before the kids came home from school. I'm not sure why I chose her outta all the people I could have. Other than her name, 'course. Couldn't resist that. I suppose the reason was 'cause she was so attractive and unassuming and I just liked the idea of taking some nobody from nowheresville and rocketing her up the ladder to the most powerful position in all Midgard. It appealed to my sense of irony, as well as presenting a challenge to my wits and my silver tongue. Could I do it? Could I make the biggest of all somethings outta nothing? Turned out I could, no sweat. The people of earth — so easy to manipulate, so malleable. Such sheep. All I had to do was give 'em a vision of integrity and steel willpower, wrapped up in a physically appealing package, and they just fell in line. Piece of cake.'

'And she never had a visitation from God, did she? You made that up after.'

'Well, from a god, yes. Me. Nice little twist of the facts, that. Cover story to explain any changes in personality folks might notice. This fella came to her door, pretending to be a preacher, newly arrived in town, all steeple-fingered and pious as you like. And Mrs Keener, so trusting, invited him right in. My smiling face was the last thing she ever saw.'

Mrs Keener said this with such a broad grin, I thought her head was going to split in two.

'Anyhoo, much as I'd love to stay and chat, Gid, I am on a schedule here. Lots to oversee — mainly the nice little doohickey we're busy building to kill you on. So what can I do for you? Why'd you want to see me?'

I tried not to imagine what the 'doohickey' might be. Those kinds of thoughts were not helpful.

'I have a favour to ask. Two, actually.'

'Really? You're haggling? You know you ain't in any position to do that. Not at this late stage in the game.'

'A condemned man is entitled to a last request or two, isn't he?'

'Maybe in a Midgard prison, on death row. But we ain't in Midgard any more, Toto.'

'Still,' I said. 'You've got me all lined up for a spectacular, messy death. I'm going to be putting on a big show for you. Consider this my fee.'

'Your fee is the lives of those folks at the castle.'

'Then I'm after a small raise. Honest, it's not much. At least hear me out.'

She planted a fist on her hip and cocked her head. 'All right then, I'll listen. I ain't guaranteeing I'll say yes, but I'll listen.'

I outlined what I wanted.

The first thing I asked for brought a mildly puzzled frown and a cry of 'Aww, cute.'

The second, a crooked, wicked smile.

'Let me think about it,' Mrs Keener said, turning to go.

An hour later: 'Visitor.'

The frost giants ushered Freya into the cabin. They hulked there with us, all four of them, heads bent under the ceiling. It was a hell of a squash. Freya and I had virtually no room to ourselves.

'Little privacy maybe?' I said.

'Orders,' said one of them. 'Neither of you is allowed out of our sight while you're together.'

'We can barely breathe. How about you back off outside? Leave the door wide open. You'll still be able to see.'

Eventually they agreed.