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  There were lots more, but those were the ones that came to mind. Odin was known to be fickle with his favors and had fathered a fair number of children on women other than his wife, Frigg. About normal for a boss god, in other words. There seemed to be more of an element of sneaky cunning to him than was typical of someone like Zeus, though.

  Jerry knew less about the other Norse gods. A stray memory brought up Geirrodur the troll king and bars of white-hot metal being flung around, but Jerry was almost sure that myth had been about Thor.

  Finally, a group of Norse warriors came past, and then Odin on horseback. An eight-legged horse. The man with iron gauntlets came and got into the cart.

  "Well, I'm not carrying him down from there myself. He can sober up and get himself home," muttered the man sulkily. "Damned Einherjar won't do anything I tell them. But if he says it, then they jump."

  He kicked the two prisoners aside, took up his stance. "Tanngnjóst, Tanngrisnir, away!"

  Nothing happened.

  Iron gauntlets swore. "Move, damn you, goats!"

  Jerry had put two and two together now. This was Thor's goat-pulled chariot—only it lacked the ornamentation you might expect of a thunder-god's chariot. This English-speaking person was also a pretty poor stand-in for Thor.

  Odin returned with a double-clatter. "Tanngnjóst, Tanngrisnir, Bilskríner!" he snapped, walloping the goats with his spear-butt.

  The goats and the chariot took off like a rocket ship heading for orbit. Fake-Thor landed hard on Jerry as the chariot leapt and bounced down the rough track at terrific speed. The goats seemed to want it airborne, and the chariot didn't have springs of any sort.

  It was a hellish journey and the charioteer's efforts to slow it down were met with no success. Neither did his efforts to stand up. To add to the joy of the journey, icy sleet showered down on them. Jerry could only be grateful, when, after an eternity, the bone-shaking slowed and then stopped, pulling into a barn made of rough rocks.

  Iron-gauntlets got out staggering, stepping on Jerry and his companion. They were at least out of the freezing rain. Iron-gauntlets didn't bother with unhitching the goats, just left everything.

  They lay there for a long time, as dusk gathered outside. Presently someone with a burning brand came along and unhitched the goats with a lot of grumbling. Norse was a fine grumble-language by the sound of it, with plenty of gutturals to help you sound really cross and miserable. It reminded Jerry a bit of Liz, when she started swearing at the Immigration and Naturalization Service in Afrikaans.

  Eventually, the muttering grumbler noticed them. He hauled them out bodily, and dumped them on the straw, then pulled the chariot away and left, ignoring Jerry's yells.

  The straw seemed a better place than the back of the chariot, anyway, although that made no difference to his co-sufferer. The PSA agent had lapsed into unconsciousness. Jerry was suffering from extreme bruising and cold, and some light-headedness, but that appeared to be the worst, apart from being tied up and left in a Norse stable.

  He strained at the cords futilely. Well, maybe he could at least burrow his feet into the straw. The shoeless foot felt as if it might be about to lose toes from frostbite, and the other one didn't feel much better.

  He was just about half into the straw, and thinking that this had to be an improvement on the chariot, when it became obvious that still being in the chariot had one thing going for it. Goats—huge goats, the size of ponies—could not come and sample your clothing.

  Just when he thought nothing could get worse, Jerry got Wagnerian laughter and a kick in the ribs. Two Norse warriors had entered the barn. They pushed the goats away, examined the PSA agent, and then hauled Jerry to his feet.

  One said something to Jerry, accompanied by a prod from fingers the size and hardness of a rifle barrel, that obviously meant "walk," seemingly oblivious of the fact that his feet were tied together. So Jerry did his best. He hopped. And fell over. The new outburst of Wagnerian laughter was worth enduring just to have his feet cut loose.

  They walked him out, and onto a rough trail. They mounted horses and rode, chatting merrily, pausing their cheerful dialogue only to occasionally lean down and belt him with the flat of a sword, if they thought him to be walking too slowly. A numb foot and his giddiness didn't help.

  Coming over the ridge in the sunset Jerry could be excused for halting and staring. The hall below was huge, even by mega-mall standards. Being thatched with spears and with literally hundreds of doors also would have made it stand out.

  "Valhöll," said one of the warriors, apparently finding justification in Jerry's halting abruptly. Not, of course, for too long. A swat with a sword-flat urged him on, toward what, from here, was already quite a racket—a very drunken party, by the sounds of it.

  Jerry blinked. He was hardly a warrior who had died in battle. And a drinking party with nubile Valkyries was not actually his idea of a good time, especially not for eternity. Once in a while, maybe.

  It soon appeared that the joy of drinking himself senseless was not for him anyway. He was led through a corner of the huge hall of roistering men. The hall was decked with shields and axes, and reeked of boiled pork, mead, and the aftereffects of too much of both. The two escorts pushed in through a doorway and off toward some private chambers beyond. They came to a door at which they knocked, very respectfully.

  Jerry found himself in the presence of Odin, in Odin's own chamber. The one-eyed god sat slumped in his chair, a drinking-horn in one hand and a pair of ravens perched on the back of the chair. There were two other people in the room, a golden-haired and bored-looking woman and a man with a short stubbly beard and a rather weak chin.

  Jerry realized that the latter was Mr. Iron-Gauntlets, without the fake beard, gauntlets, or the broad iron girdle. He looked about twenty-five years old and with incipient jowls already developing. He also looked as surly as bull-beef right now. The blonde looked ready to take him out of the Mythworld and send him back home with a blow from her tambour-frame.

  Odin stared at Jerry, his one eye cold and penetrating. The stare was plainly intended to intimidate. It might have worked too, if the raven behind Odin had not chosen that moment to lift its tail over the blue cloak. Lightheaded and shivering, Jerry couldn't help a bit of puerile laughter.

  Plainly Odin had not expected that response. He said something in Norse.

  "Pardon?" said Jerry. His legs felt as if someone had taken the bones out of them, and the room seemed oddly wobbly.

  Odin's solitary eye narrowed. He raised his hand and said . . . something. Which became an understandable, "Answer, Thrall."

  Jerry blinked. It must be some kind of translation spell. "What was the question again?" he asked, swaying.

  "None of your insolence!" snapped the man who had been using the iron gauntlets. "Answer Allfather Odin!"

  Well, that established his pedigree. "Shut up, Thjalfi," said Odin offhandedly. "I have not yet forgotten that you left Thor behind. Now, foreign thrall, answer me. Or I'll make the blood-eagle out of you."

  Jerry's reply was to pitch forward on his face.

  He was vaguely aware of voices talking after a while. ". . . Sif, find me two that are not too drunk and have this one hauled to the dungeon. Put him in with the son of Laufey. He'll be keen enough to talk after he sees what happens to those who oppose us."

  The woman said something indistinct, but clearly petulant.

  "Hel take it, woman. If he hasn't staggered home by tomorrow I'll go back and look for him myself. We still need him. You know that by this time of night the Einherjar are not capable of riding to the gates of Asgard, let alone all the way to Geirrodur's castle. Now get me someone to heave this carrion away."

  "If I go out there they'll think I'm another Valkyrie for them to deflower. And I have enough trouble with one drunken sot," she said.

  "By my eye . . . Thjalfi."

  "They don't listen to me, Allfather," said Thjalfi sullenly. "They say I am just a bondsman."


  "Humph. I'll do it myself then," said Odin.

  A door slammed. "Do you think he suspects?" said Thjalfi.

  The woman laughed. "Him? He's far too vain."

  "Best to wait until he's well asleep before . . . Stop that."

  "Oh. Don't you like it anymore?" she teased.

  The man coughed. "He'll be back soon. And you never know when those birds of his will show up."

  "I'm still going to poison those ravens."

  "I tried," he said glumly.

  A little later two large grumpy warriors picked Jerry up, and transported him down many flights of stairs, and tossed him down into a pit. It seemed to be a place of strange shadows, monstrous, fearful shadows, as Jerry faded into unconsciousness. Those had been quite some blows he'd taken to the head, and it had been a long day.

  * * *

  When he awoke, Jerry realized that there were very few bits of him that didn't hurt, but that at least he was no longer cold. He began to slowly take stock of his surroundings. The surface he was lying on felt like stone. Opening his eyes a crack, he saw that the wall looked like stone too, stone with odd shadows leaping on it.

  Firelight! No wonder it wasn't so cold. But . . . wasn't he in a dungeon?

  He opened his eyes properly and saw that, fire or no fire, he was in a dungeon, and a place of torment. There was a very large snake high up one of the walls, and although it could not quite reach the man below who was bound to three huge slabs with what looked like thick red-brown rope, the snake could spit venom at him. There was a harassed-looking woman crouched next to the bound man, holding a bowl.

  The bowl was now almost slopping full of the poison. She darted with it to the fireplace. The snake spat and the bound man writhed and screamed. He must be enormously powerful because the very floor shook. The woman hastened back to hold the bowl in the way again, wiping his ravaged face with a rag. There were tears on her own face.

  After a while he said, "It's all right, Sigi. It's just pain. It'll pass." The voice was thick with agony, but there was no mistaking the affection.

  Jerry sat up, with difficulty, as they'd not seen fit to untie his hands.

  "Ah! Our visitor has stirred. So nice of you to drop in," said the bound victim sardonically.

  Jerry was beaten up, mildly concussed, and half frozen. But he knew enough mythology to realize that the speaker could only be the bound god, Loki.

  Loki, the father of lies, the architect of Baldr's death, general maker of trouble . . . and occasional savior of the gods of Asgard. A great cell-mate.

  "There is some water there, in that rock-bowl," said the woman, gesturing with her elbow.

  "Poor hospitality," said Loki, with a wry smile. "But there is something of a shortage of mead in these palatial quarters of mine, I'm afraid."

  Jerry staggered to where trickling water dribbled into a small depression in the floor, drank some of the cold water, and then washed his face. It was awkward with bound hands, but at least he could kneel and dip. The icy water hurt, but it did wake him up. He wasn't that sure that he wanted to be awake, but it seemed that he didn't have a lot of choice in the matter.

  "So, stranger," said Loki, when Jerry had finished his ablution and stepped uneasily nearer to them. "What brings you to this delightful spot?"

  Jerry looked at the snake above them, very warily, but the serpent seemed to be ignoring him completely. "A certain one-eyed . . . traveler had me sent here."

  Naming gods was a poor idea in the Mythworlds. It was never wise to call their attention to oneself. "And you, Son of Laufey?"

  It was a wry smile, but it was a smile. "I see my reputation, and my fate, have gone before me, mortal. I have been many places, maybe not as far as the wanderer, but far enough. There is that about you that speaks of further places. Places beyond even One-eye's ken. That must have rubbed him raw." Loki definitely took some savage pleasure in that last statement.

  "He asked me a question, perhaps about that," admitted Jerry. "He asked in Norse, not in my tongue, so I was not able to reply. So he sent me here. To learn a lesson, I think."

  Now those eyes were bright and mocking. "Heh. Not to answer him is to survive, mortal. He can't bear not knowing. I'd find ways to avoid telling him, if you can. He's nearly as tricky as me, though."

  It made sense. The Krim didn't seem to place any value on the lives of the human victims it wasted during its reenactments of myths. It would only keep him alive if there was something to be gained from doing so.

  "I was almost free, and my repayment and Ragnarok the terrible had almost begun, when I would have destroyed all that lives," said Loki conversationally, "when Odin's power was renewed. Is this anything to do with you, man from a far place?" That was said calmly, but there was a terrible hatred, barely masked, underneath the words.

  Jerry shook his head. "No." He was glad to be able to say that. "It's the Krim."

  "These are a people of whom I have not heard. When Naglfar sails, they too will not be forgotten."

  "No," said Sigyn, "they will not," and she was just as grim as he was about that.

  "The Krim is a thing, not a people," explained Jerry. "It's that pyramid that One-eye wears around his neck. Or at least that is its symbol. It is a machine. A device. I believe it seeks the destruction of my people. My world."

  "And it has enlisted One-eye to do it," said Loki admiringly. "It couldn't have made a better choice, really."

  "Except you," said Jerry with equal urbanity.

  That actually got Loki to laugh. "Except me, indeed. But what do I have against your people, your world?"

  Jerry was surprised to see Sigyn wink at him. "Oh, what does that matter," she said. "Loki will destroy everything. He's bad."

  The bound god shook his head. "You do know how to ruin my lines, Sigi. I've got a reputation to keep up."

  "Ah, husband," she said quietly, a hand soothing his brow. "What does it all matter now? They have killed one of our children, and changed the other into a wolf. What do we care what they think? It has been many centuries since I saw you laugh. I had forgotten. You used to make me laugh all the time."

  "There is not much to laugh about, Sigi," said Loki, the grimness returning.

  "That didn't used to stop you," she said, caressing him with one hand while she kept the bowl positioned to catch the snake's dripping venom with the other. "Even when they were all united against you, you mocked them and laughed at them. Only Thor dared to stand up against you."

  "I never understood that. Why did he let them do this to me? The Thunderer has no brains, but he's not unfair," said Loki.

  "I don't know," answered Sigyn. "He played no part in your binding. But what I said was that back when you laughed at them, they could not stand against you. This mortal made you laugh instead of wallowing in our bitterness. Maybe if you can laugh again, we can break free."

  "It has to be worth a try," said Loki. "Talk, mortal."

  Jerry took a deep breath. It hurt his ribs. He wished he had Liz's brashness and courage. But she wasn't here, so he'd just have to do his best. "My name is Jerry, Loki. Not 'mortal.' I've defeated one set of gods already, and if I have to beat another I will. I'm only interested in helping you break free on certain conditions."