and drank a silent toast. Then he put the cup down with a thud and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He turned and waved a hand at the knife in the lift shaft.
'If you can take it out, it's yours. Any of you. It's yours,' he said. He spread his arms wide. 'People of London,' he cried, in his gravelly voice.
He waited a second before letting his hands fall to his sides. Then he looked down to where Signy sat, her white face half turned towards his. He bent, put his hand on her shoulder, and in a sudden involuntary movement, Signy spun round and embraced him. She never knew what made her do that. She stood there, holding him tightly about the waist while he rested his arms on her shoulders. Then he pushed her lightly away and began to pace slowly around the top table – past Conor, past Val, until he came to where the three Volson brothers sat. He smiled that familiar smile again, and laid his hand on Siggy's shoulder.
Siggy twisted right round to stare into his face. He felt in his heart that he knew who this was, but he knew he had never seen him before in his life. Under the shadows of the wide-brimmed hat the face was dark and bloody. All Siggy could see was that one eye.
The dead man didn't speak. He just nodded familiarly and then continued his slow steps around the table. He walked off the platform where the families sat and down among the crowd and then made his way down the length of the hall. Heads turned to follow his progress. It took him maybe ten minutes to reach the main door, ten minutes in which it seemed that all life was frozen around him. He opened the door and walked out…
As the big swing door clattered behind him, the spell broke. There was an instant pandemonium of voices. Conor and Val were on their feet at the same moment.
'Bring me that man…!' screamed Conor.
'…back here!' yelled Val.
The guards by the door leapt out after the dead man as if they'd been scalded out of sleep. Conor turned to Val, a vicious look. 'This is some trick of yours,' he hissed. His lips were white with fear.
12
Siggy
It was a machine. No living thing comes back from the dead. A machine, yes. Only a machine can be restarted. But then maybe the gods aren't alive either…
And what's the difference between a man and a machine anyway, when they can brew something out of flesh and blood and give it a mechanical brain? It was a made thing all right and I was pretty sure what it was there for, too. Conor was at Val's throat. Every man of his was glaring at every man of ours; every man of ours was glaring at every man of theirs – all thinking it was some trick being played by the other side. We'd been fighting each other for a hundred years. How could anyone believe it could be stopped?
That thing was here to put a stop to any treaty. Could it be they were afraid of us out there?
Val was still trying to talk Conor round. He had him by the arm. 'Odin hung for nine days and nights, he died and came back to life. You see? You see?'
You could see Val convincing himself. Funny thing, he was so suspicious he wouldn't believe what he told himself unless he had a witness; but he was as superstitious as an old woman. He'd been wanting to believe in those old gods for a long time. He wanted to have them on his side. Handy thing if you want to get things done.
People were shouting. The bodyguards were looking nervous, glancing from side to side. You could feel the trust melting all around. Then Val turned round to face the hall and he started to yell. It was so noisy you couldn't hear him at first, but as people saw his mouth going they began to shut up. Even so it was five minutes before he had the hall quiet and you could hear what he was saying everywhere.
'Odin!' he was shouting, over and over. 'Odin! Odin! Odin!' He was squeezing his hands as if he could force the air itself to accept his version of it. Yeah, and maybe he could have done even that. Gradually everyone fell silent. Val was stamping his foot If it had been anyone else you'd've said: tantrum. But the tantrums of kings are truths. I'd seen him do it before. You could see it on people's faces. First they were embarrassed at the way he was carrying on. Then, they believed everything he wanted them to believe.
By the time he'd stopped shouting the hall was waiting for him to go on. Oh, you had to be impressed by my father. There was just his ragged breathing; he was out of breath with all that shouting and stamping. Then he put out his arm and he said, 'Odin's gift! What about
And we all turned to look at the knife.
It was a miracle all right – not hard to believe that it was the work of the gods. The knife was sunk up to its hilt.
To give you some idea, I say glass when I talk about the lift shaft, but of course it wasn't. Some people said it was a single perfect diamond a kilometre long that had been grown from charcoal. Others reckoned diamond was too soft. That little knife stuck out of it as if it were made of balsa wood. So what was it made of? What was it doing there? What was it for?
The thought that flashed through my mind – I'm a realist, you see – was that it was the key to our destruction. A trick. As soon as it was removed the glass would come down, and there would be an end to everything – to me, to my brothers, to Signy, to Conor and Val and all our people. Just what Ragnor would like to see…?
But Val was already on his feet I knew exactly what he was going to say. I just sat back down and sighed. What can you do?
'A present from Odin himself!' he cried. 'A knife like no other on earth!' His voice echoed around the hall. Everyone stilled themselves. I was watching Conor. He didn't know what was going on any more than the rest of us, but he knew one thing all right. He wanted that knife. I know greed when I see it and Conor had plenty of that. Well, but you couldn't blame him for wanting the knife. Whether it came from the gods or from Ragnor, that knife was something worth having.
My dear brother-in-law was nibbling anxiously at the corner of his finger. Behind him, the halfman guard was still on its knees, trembling. Conor noticed him out of the corner of his eye.
'Was that the god?' Conor demanded.
'The god – Odin – yes, my lord.' The dogman barked and trembled.
Conor stood up. He looked around him and blushed, to give him about the only credit I can. 'I claim first go,' he said.
I saw Ben look pleadingly at Val. He was the eldest son, he wanted first go. But Val said, 'Let the guests go first.' Ben stamped in frustration, but he did as he was told. Everyone looked at Conor.
Oh, it was a treat to watch. Conor had about twenty different expressions flying across his face. He must have known he was gonna make a fool of himself. All those people looking – he hated to fail in public. But he knew if he didn't have a go someone else would. He rubbed his face, nodded at Val, stood up, and made his way round the table to the lift shaft.
It was a laugh. Poor Conor! Every eye was on him, but I bet he wished he was all on his ownsome. His face was as red as a tomato, so that was one thing Signy said about him that was true – he got embarrassed easily. As for her, she was all fluttery, face as white as a sheet, staring at him and I could see that she was willing him to do it, every fibre of her. That made me mad. Oh, he had her fooled good and proper. She was in love, all right, in love with a mask.
He got himself in front of the knife with his back to us so no one could watch him, took the knife by the haft and pulled gently.
Nothing moved. Conor pulled a bit harder. Then he glanced over his shoulder and gave a little smile, feeling a bit foolish, not wanting to make a prat of himself by pulling too hard and failing. Then he tried again, harder. Then at last he went for it. He put one boot on the glass and really heaved.
Three-quarters of him was straining for dear life and the other quarter was trying to look as if he wasn't bothered. But wanting or not, he couldn't budge it, not by a millimetre.
'It's impossible!' he gasped at last. He let go, and glared at it like it just peed on his shoes. He came back trying to pretend not to be out of breath. Signy put her hand on his arm, all disappointed for him, but he shook her off with a little gesture. He was steaming.
