making himself understood.
But as an inevitable corollary, his knowledge of English had vanished When he thought of the written form of «man» he could form no concept but that of the four runic characters:
He couldn’t even imagine what the word would look like with the runes put into other characters. And he had failed to read his
Naturally his gadgets had failed to work. He was in a world not governed by the laws of twentieth-century physics or chemistry. It had a mental pattern which left no room for matches or flashlights, or non-rusting steel. These things were simply inconceivable to anyone around him. Therefore they did not exist save as curiously shaped objects of no value.
Well, anyway, he thought to himself drowsily, at least I won’t have to worry about the figure I cut in front of these guys again. I’ve fallen so low that nothing I could do would make me a bigger fool. Oh, what the hell —
FIVE
Shea awoke before dawn, shivering. The temperature was still above freezing, but a wind had come up, and the grey landscape was curtained with driving rain. He yawned and sat up with his blanket round him like an Indian. The others were still asleep and he stared out for a moment, trying to recover the thread of last night’s thoughts.
This world he was in — perhaps permanently — was governed by laws of its own. What were those laws? There was one piece of equipment of which the transference had not robbed him; his modem mind, habituated to studying and analysing the general rules guiding individual events. He ought to be able to reason out the rules governing this existence and to use them — something which the rustic Thjalfi would never think of doing. So far the only rules he had noticed were that the gods had unusual powers. But there must be general laws underlying even these —
Thor’s snores died away into a gasping rattle. The red-bearded god rubbed his eyes, sat up, and spat.
«Up, all ?sir’s men!» he said. «Ah, Harald of the Turnips, you are already awake. Cold salmon will be our breakfast again since your fire magic failed.» Then, as he saw Shea stiffen: «Nay, take it not unkindly. We ?sir are not unkind to mortals, and I’ve seen more unpromising objects than you turn out all right. Make a man of you yet, youngling. Just watch me and imitate what I do.» He yawned and the yawn spread into a bristling grin.
The others bestirred themselves. Thjalfi got out some smoked salmon. However good the stuff was, Shea found the third successive meal of it a little too much.
They were just beginning to gnaw when there was a heavy tramp outside. Through the rain loomed a grey shape whose outline made Shea’s scalp tingle. It was mannish, but at least ten feet tall, with massive columnar legs. It was a giant.
The giant stooped and looked into the travellers’ refuge.
Shea, his heart beating madly, backed up against the curving wall, his hand feeling for his hunting knife. The face that looked in was huge, with bloodshot grey eyes and a scraggly iron-grey beard, and its expression was not encouraging.
«Ungh,» snarled the giant, showing yellow snags of teeth. His voice was a couple of octaves beneath the lowest human bass. «’Scuse me, gents, but I been looking for my glove. How ’bout having a little breakfast together, huh?»
Shea, Thjalfi and Loki all looked at Thor. The Red God stood with feet wide apart, surveying the giant for some minutes. Then he said, «Good is guesting on a journey. We offer some smoked salmon. But what have you?»
«The name’s Skrymir, buddy. I got some bread and dried dragon meat. Say, ain’t you Thor Odinnsson, the hammer thrower?»
«That is not incorrect.»
«Boy, oh, boy, ain’t that something?» The giant made a horrible face that was probably intended for a friendly grin. He reached around for a bag that hung at his back and sitting down in front of the shelter, opened it. Shea got a better view of him, though not one that inspired a more favourable impression. The monster’s long grey hair was done up in a topknot with bone skewers stuck through it. He was dressed entirely in furs, of which the cloak must have come from the grandfather of all the bears, though it was none too large for him.
Skrymir rook from his bag a slab of Norse bread the size of a mattress, and several hunks of leathery grey meat. These he slapped down in front of the travellers. «All right, youse guys help yourselves,» he rumbled. «Let’s see some of that salmon, huh?»
Thjalfi mutely handed over a piece of the salmon on which the giant set noisily to work. He drooled, now and then wiping his face with the back of his huge paw, and getting himself well smeared with salmon grease.
Shea found he had to break up his portion of the bread with his knife-handle before he could manage it, so hard was the material. The dragon meat was a little easier, but still required some hard chewing, and his jaw muscles were sore from the bearing they had taken in the last twenty-four hours. The dragon meat had a pungent, garlicky flavour that he didn’t care for.
As Shea gnawed he saw a louse the size of a cockroach crawl out from the upper edge of one of Skrymir’s black fur leggings, amble around a bit in the jungle of hair below the giant’s knee, and stroll back into its sanctuary. Shea almost gagged. His appetite tapered off, though presently it returned. After what he had been through lately, it would take more than a single louse to spoil his interest in food for any length of time. What the hell?
Loki, grinning slyly, asked: «Are there turnips in your bag, Hairy One?»
Skrymir frowned. «Turnips? Naw. Whatcha want with ’em?»
«Our warlock» — Loki jerked his thumb at Shea — «eats them.»
«What-a-at? No kiddin’!» roared the giant. «I heard of guys that eat bugs and drink cow’s milk, but I ain’t never heard of nobody what eats turnips.»
Shea said: «That’s how I get some of my magic powers,» with a somewhat sickly smile, and felt he had come out of it fairly well.
Skrymir belched. It was not an ordinary run-of-the-mine belch, but something akin to a natural cataclysm. Shea tried to hold his breath until the air cleared. The giant settled himself and inquired: «Say, how come youse is travelling in Jounheim?»
«The Wing Thor travels where he will,» observed Loki loftily, but with a side glance.
«Aw right, aw right, butcha don’t have to get snotty about it. I just was thinking there’s some relations of Hrungnir and Geirrod that was laying for Thor. They’d just love to have a chance to get even witcha for bumping off those giants.»
Thor rumbled: «Few will be more pleased than I to meet —»
But Loki interrupted: «Thank you for the warning, friend Skrymir. Good is the guesting when men are friendly. We will do as much for you one of these days. Will you have more salmon?»
«Naw, I had all I want.»
Loki continued silkily, «Would it be impertinence to ask whither your giantship is bound?»
«Aw, I’m going up to Utgard. Utgardaloki’s throwing a big feed for all the gaints.»
«Great and glorious will be that feasting.»
«You’re damn right it’ll be great. All the hill giants and frost giants and fire giants together at once say, that’s something!»
«It would give us pleasure to see it. If we went as guests of so formidable a giant as yourself, none of Hrungnir’s or Geirrod’s friends would dare make trouble, would they?»
Skrymir showed his snags in a pleased grin. «Them punks? Haw, they wouldn’t do nothing.» He picked his teeth thoughtfully with thumb and forefinger. «Yeah, I guess you can come. The big boss, Utgardaloki, is a good guy and a friend of mine. So you won’t have no trouble. If youse’ll clear outta my glove, we can start right now.»
