As Shea was digesting this example of Norse humour, there came a shout of «Come on, mortals!» from Thor, who had climbed into the chariot. He clucked to the goats, who leaned forward. The chariot wheels screeched and turned.
«Hurry!» cried Thjalfi and ran for the chariot. He had reached it and jumped aboard with a single huge bound before Shea even started. The latter ran behind the now rapidly moving vehicle and tried to hoist himself up, His fingers, again numbed with cold, slipped, and he went sprawling on his face in the snow. He heard Loki’s infuriating laugh. As he pulled himself to his feet he remembered bitterly that he had made this «journey» to escape the feeling of insignificance and maladjustment that his former life had given him.
There was nothing to do but run after the chariot again. Thjalfi pulled him over the tail and slapped the snow from his clothes. «Next time,» he advised, «ye better get a good grip before ye try to jump. Ye know what it says in Hбvamбl:
It is better to live Than to Lie a corpse;
The quick man catches the cart.»
Thor, at the front of the chariot, said something to the goats. They broke from a trot to a gallop. Shea, clutching the side of the vehicle, became aware that it had no springs. He found he could take the jolting best by flexing his legs and yielding to the jerks.
Loki leaned towards him, grinning. «Hai, Turnip Harald! Let us be merry!» Shea smiled uncertainly. Manner and voice were friendly, but might conceal some new malicious trick. Uncle Fox contained airily: «Be merry while you can. These hill giants are uncertain of humour where we go. He, he, I remember a warlock named Birger. He put a spell on one of the hill giants so he married a goat instead of a girl. The giant cut Birger open, tied one end of his entrails to a tree, and chased him around it. He, he!»
The anecdote was not appetizing and the chariot was bounding on at the same furious pace, throwing its passengers into the air every time it hit a bump. Up — down — bang — up — down — bang. Shea began to regret his breakfast.
Thjalfi said; «Ye look poorly, friend Harald; sort of goose-green. Shall I get something to eat?»
Shea had been fighting his stomach in desperate dread of losing further prestige. But the word «eat» ended the battle. He leaned far over the side of the chariot.
Loki laughed. Thor turned at the sound, and drowned Loki’s laughter in a roar of his own. «Haw, haw, haw! If you foul up my chariot, Turnip Harald, I’ll make you clean it.» There was a kind of good-natured contempt in the tone, more galling than Uncle Fox’s amusement.
Shea’s stomach finally ceased its convulsions and he sat down on the chest wishing he were dead, Perhaps it was the discomfort of the seat, but he soon stood up again, forcing himself to grin. «I’ll be all right now. I’m just not used to such a pace.»
Thor turned his bead again and rumbled. «You think this fast, springling? You have in no wise any experience of speed. Watch.» He whistled to the goats, who stretched their heads forward and really opened out. The chariot seemed to spend most of the time in the air; at intervals, it would hit a ridge in the road with a thunderous bang and then take off again. Shea clung for dear life to the side, estimating their speed at something between sixty and seventy miles an hour. This is not much in a modern automobile on a concrete road, but something quite different in a two-wheeled springless cart on a rutted track.
«Wow! Wow! Wow!» yelled Thor, carried away by his awn enjoyment. «Hang on; here’s a curve!» Instead of slackening speed the goats fairly leaped, banking inward on the turn. The chariot lurched in the opposite direction. Shea clung with eyes closed and one arm over the side. «Yoooeee!» bellowed Thor.
It went on for ten minutes more before Thjalfi suggested lunch. Shea found himself actually hungry again. But his appetite quailed at the sight of some slabs that looked Like scorched leather.
«
«Smoked salmon,» said Thjalfi. «Ye put one end in your mouth, like this. Then ye bite. Then ye swallow. Ye have sense enough to swallow, I suppose?»
Shea tried it. He was amazed that any fish could be so tough. But as he gnawed he became aware of a delicious flavour. When I get back, he thought, I must look up sonic of this stuff. Rather,
The temperature rose during the afternoon, and toward evening the wheels were throwing out fans of slush. Thor roared «Whoa!» and the goats stopped. They were in a hollow between low hills, grey save where the snow had melted to show dark patches of grass. In the hollow itself a few discouraged-looking spruces showed black in the twilight.
«Here we camp,» said Thor. «Goat steak would be our feasting had we but fire.»
«What does he mean?» Shea whispered to Thjalfi.
«It’s one of the Thunderer’s magic tricks. He slaughters Tooth Gnasher or Tooth Gritter and we can eat all but the hide and bones. He magics them back to life.»
Loki was saying to Thor «Uncertain is it, Enemy of the Worm, whether my fire spell will be effective here. In this hill-giant land there are spells against spells. Your lightning flash?»
«It can shiver and slay but not kindle in this damp,» growled Thor. «You have a new warlock there. Why not make him work?»
Shea had been feeling for his matches. They were there and dry. This was his chance. «That’ll be easy,» he said lightly. «I can make your fire as easy as snapping my fingers. Honest.»
Thor glared at him with suspicion «Few are the weaklings equal to any works,» he said heavily. «For my part I always hold that strength and courage are the first requirements of a man. But I will not gainsay that occasionally my brothers feel otherwise, and it may be that you can do as you say.»
«There is also cleverness, Wielder of Mjollnir,» said Loki. «Even your hammer blows would be worthless if you did not know where to strike; and it may be that this outlander can show us some new thing. Now I propose a contest, we two and the warlock. The first of us to make the fire light shall have a blow at either of the others.»
«Hey!» said Shea. «If Thor takes a swat at me, you’ll have to get a new warlock.»
«That will not be difficult.» Loki grinned and rubbed his hands together. Though Shea decided the sly god would find something funny about his mother’s funeral, for once he was not caught. He grinned back, and thought he detected a flicker of approval in Uncle Fox’s eyes.
Shea and Thjalfi tramped through the slush to the clump of spruces. As he pulled our his supposedly rust- proof knife, Shea was dismayed to observe that the blade had developed a number of dull-red freckles. He worked manfully hacking down a number of trees and branches. They were piled on a spot from which the snow had disappeared, although the ground was still sopping.
«Who’s going to try first?» asked Shea.
«Don’t be more foolish than ye have to,» murmured Thjalfi. «Redbeard, of course.»
Thor walked up to the pile of brush and extended his hands. There was a blue glow of corona discharge around them, and a piercing crack as bright electric sparks leaped from his fingertips to the wood. The brush stirred a little and a few puffs of water vapour rose from it. Thor frowned in concentration. Again the sparks crackled, but no fire resulted.
«Too damp is the wood,» growled Thor. «Now you shall make the attempt, Sly One.»
Loki extended his hands and muttered something too low for Shea to hear. A rosy-violet glow shone from his hands and danced among the brush. In the twilight the strange illumination lit up Loki’s sandy red goatee, high cheekbones, and slanting brows with startling effect. His lips moved almost silently. The spruce steamed gently, but did not tight.
Loki stepped back. The magenta glow died out. «A night’s work,» said he. «Let us see what our warlock can do.»
* * *
Shea had been assembling a few small twigs, rubbing them to dryness on his clothes and arranging them like an Indian tepee. They were still dampish, but he supposed spruce would contain enough resin to light.
«Now,» he said with a trace of swagger. «Let everybody watch. This is strong magic.»
He felt around in the little container that held his matches until he found some of the nonsafety kitchen type. His three companions held their breaths as he took out a match and struck it against the box.
Nothing happened.
