«Let there also,» snapped the small man, «be an allaying of insults in the mouth of —»
«All insults are untrue,» said Heimdall. «I state facts.»
«Facts! Few are the facts that come from that long wagging chin. Facts like the tale of having nine mothers, or the boast of that horn and the great noise it will make — Beware lest mice nest in it and it fail to give a squeak.»
«You shall hear my trumpet at the
«Some would say that called for the sword.»
«Try it. Here is the blade that will carve your stinking carcass.»
«Why you—» Foxy-face and Heimdall were on their feet and bellowing at each other. Their voices had a volume that made Shea wince. The other three bearded men rose and began shouting also. Above their heads the two black birds who had been the Wanderer’s companions fled round and round with excited cries.
Just as it looked as though the two original disputants were certain to fling themselves at each other’s throat, the bigger redhead grabbed the smaller one by the shoulders and forced him down. «Sit down!» he thundered. The Wanderer, his sonorous voice full of outraged dignity, shouted; «This is disgraceful! We shall have no respect left. I command you to be quiet, both of you!»
«But —» yelled Heimdall.
The Wanderer silenced him with a gesture. «Nothing you can say will be heard. If either of you speaks to the other before bedtime, he shall have nothing less than my gravest displeasure.»
Heimdall subsided and went over to a far corner to sit and glare at Fox-face, who returned the glare. Thjalfi whispered to the awed Shea: «It’s like this every time three or four of
«I’d still like to know who
«Do you mean ye really don’t know?» Thjalfi stared at him with eyes full of honest rustic perplexity. «Don’t that beat all, now? I wouldn’t have believed it if ye hadn’t asked for those turnips. Well, the one that was scrapping with Heimdall is Loki. The big red-bearded one next to him is Thor. The old man, the Wanderer, is Odinn, and the fat one is Frey. Have ye got them straight now?»
Shea looked hard at Thjalfi, but there was nothing in the latter’s face but the most transparent seriousness. Either he had stepped through the formula into some downright dream, or he was being kidded, or the five were local Scandinavian chieftains who for some reason had named themselves after the gods of the old Norse pantheon. The remaining possibility — that these were actually gods — was too wildly improbable for consideration. Yet, those birds — the glance he had received from Odinn — and he knew that Odinn was always represented as one-eyed — The big redhead called Thor got up and went over to the pair whom Thjalfi had identified as Odinn and Frey. For a few minutes they muttered, heads together. At the conclusion of the conference Odinn got up, clapped his floppy hat on his head, whirled his blue cloak around him, look a last gulp of mead and strode out the door.
As the door banged behind him, Loki and Heimdall half rose to their feet. Immediately Thor and Frey jumped up, with the former rumbling: «No more! Save your blows, Sons of Asgard, for the
Thjalf, rose reluctantly. «I’ll speak a word for ye to Uncle Fox in the morning,» he murmured in farewell. Working for these ?sir is no fun. They’re an ornery lot, but I suppose we’re better off with ’em than without ’em, what with the
Bare is the breast Without banner before it
When heroes bear weapons To the wrack of the world.
«Good night.»
Shea was not at all sure he wanted to work for Loki as a warlock, whatever that was. There was something sly about the man, uncomfortable The graceful and forthright Heimdall had impressed him more in spite of the latter’s lack of a sense of humour, he mused.
A small noise at the door was Sverre, putting his head in for a look around and then vanishing again. Of the buxom young women nothing had been seen since they took up the wooden platters. Though the house was obviously going to bed, Shea found himself not in the least sleepy. It could hardly be much after nine o’clock. But in a world without artificial light other than that of torches, people would rise and set with the sun. Shea wondered whether he, too, would come around to that dismal habit. Probably, unless he succeeded in getting back to his own world. That was a rather upsetting thought. But, hell, he had taken the risk with his eyes open. Even if this was not the world he had expected to land in, it was still one in which his twentieth-century appliances should give him certain advantages. It would be time enough to worry when —
«Hai, turnip man,» said Heimdall suddenly from his corner. «Fill a couple of mugs and bring them hither, will you?»
Shea felt his temper rise at this dictatorial manner. But whatever or whoever Heimdall was, he looked fully capable of enforcing authority. And though the words were peremptory, the tone of voice was evidently meant for kindness. He obeyed.
«Sit down,» said Heimdall. «You have been called Harald. Is that correct?»
«Yes, I was told you are Heimdall.»
«Nothing less than the truth. I am also known as the Watcher, the Son of Nine Mothers, the Child of Fury, and the Golden. I prefer the titles.»
«Well, look here, Heimdall, what’s all this —»
«Children of men use the titles or call me sir,» said Heimdall severely and rather pompously.
«Sorry, sir.»
Heimdall Looked down his long nose and condescended a smile that showed the gold teeth. «To me this familiarity is not unpleasant, for I have also been called the Friend of Men. But the Lord of Asgard disapproves.»
«You mean Odinn?»
«None other.»
«The old guy — pardon me, I mean the elderly one-eyed gentleman?»
«You are a well of knowledge.»
«I ran into him out on the moor yesterday and followed him here.»
«That is not hidden. I saw you.»
«You did? Where were you?»
«Many miles eastaway. I also heard your remarks to him. Lucky you were not to have been struck dead.»
Shea almost said, «Aw, don’t try to kid me.» Just in time he remembered the piercing, icy glance Odinn had given him and held his tongue. It wouldn’t do to take chances till he knew more about what chances he was taking, what system of natural laws governed this world into which he had fallen. Heimdall was watching him with a slightly amused smile.
«I also heard you tell Thjalfi that you are no warlock, but you know not what it means. You must be from far. However» — he smiled again at Shea’s expression of consternation — «few are sorry for that. I’ll keep your secret A joke on the Master of Deception — ho, ho ho!»
He drank. «And now, child of an ignorant mother,» he went on, «it is yet to be seen that you have knowledge of strange things. I propose that we amuse ourselves with the game of questions. Each shalt ask of the other seven questions, and he who answers best shall be adjudged the winner. Ask, mortal!»
Seven questions. Shea considered a moment how he could make them yield him the most information. «Where has Odinn gone?» he asked finally.
«One,» said Heimdall. «He has gone to the gates of Hell to summon from her grave a woman centuries dead.»
«Did you say Hell, honest?» asked Shea.
«It is not to be doubted.»
«Well, well, you don’t say so.» Shea was covering his own incredulity and confusion. This man — god —
