Twenty-four You Had One Job 8 page

Samirah nibbled on a spring roll. ‘Even I’ve heard of him. He’s in the old stories. He made Thor’s hammer.’

Blitz nodded. ‘Anyway, the rope Gleipnir … you could argue it was his most important work, even more than Thor’s hammer. The rope keeps Fenris Wolf from getting free and starting Doomsday.’

‘I’m with you so far,’ I said.

‘The thing is – the rope was a rush job. The gods were clamouring for help. They’d already tried to bind Fenris with two massive chains. They knew their window of opportunity was closing. The Wolf was getting stronger and wilder by the day. Pretty soon he’d be uncontrollable. So Eitri … well, he did his best. Obviously, the rope has held together this long. But a thousand years is a long time, even for a dwarven rope, especially when the strongest wolf in the universe is straining against it day and night. My dad, Bilì, was a great rope maker. He spent years trying to convince Junior that Gleipnir needed to be replaced. Junior wouldn’t hear of it. Junior said he went to the Wolf’s island from time to time to inspect the rope, and he swore that Gleipnir was fine. He thought my dad was just insulting his family’s reputation. Finally my dad …’

Blitz’s voice cracked.

Hearthstone signed, You don’t have to tell.

‘I’m okay.’ Blitzen cleared his throat. ‘Junior used all his influence to turn people against my dad. Our family lost business. Nobody would buy Bilì’s crafts. Finally Dad went to the island of Lyngvi himself. He wanted to check the rope, prove that it needed replacing. He never came back. Months later a dwarven patrol found …’ He looked down and shook his head.

Hearthstone signed, Clothes. Ripped. Washed up on shore.

Either Samirah was catching on to sign language or she got the general idea. She put her fingertips

to her mouth. ‘Blitz, I’m so sorry.’

‘Well –’ he shrugged listlessly – ‘now you know. Junior is still holding a grudge. My dad’s death wasn’t enough. He wants to shame and kill me, too.’

I set my drink on the coffee table. ‘Blitz, I think I speak for all of us when I say that Junior can shove his Granny Shuffler –’

‘Magnus …’ Sam warned.

‘What? That old dwarf needs to be decapitated in the worst way. What can we do to help Blitz win the contest?’

‘I appreciate it, kid.’ Blitz struggled to his feet. ‘But there’s nothing. I … if you’ll excuse me …’ He staggered to his bedroom and shut the door behind him.

Samirah pursed her lips. She still had a twig of Yggdrasil sticking out of her coat pocket. ‘Is there any chance Junior isn’t that good? He’s very old now, isn’t he?’

Hearthstone unwrapped his scarf and threw it on the couch. He wasn’t doing well in the darkness of Nidavellir. The green veins on his neck stood out more than usual. His hair floated with static, like plant tendrils searching for sunlight.

Junior is very good. He made a sign like ripping a piece of paper in half and throwing away the pieces: Hopeless.

I felt like throwing bottles of Fjalar’s Foaming Mead out of the window. ‘But Blitz can craft, right?

Or were you just being encouraging?’

Hearth rose. He walked to a sideboard along the dining-room wall. I hadn’t paid the table much attention, but Hearth pressed something on its surface – a hidden switch, I guess – and the tabletop opened like a clamshell. The underside of the top section was one big light panel. It flickered to life, glowing warm and golden.

‘A tanning bed.’ As soon as I said that, the truth sank in. ‘When you first came to Nidavellir, Blitzen saved your life. That’s how. He made a way for you to get sunlight.’

Hearth nodded. First time I used runes for magic. Mistake. I dropped into Nidavellir. Almost died. Blitzen – he can craft. Kind and smart. But no good under pressure. Contests … no.

Sam hugged her knees. ‘So what do we do? Do you have any magic that will help?’ Hearth hesitated. Some. Will use before contest. Not enough.

I translated for Sam and then asked, ‘What can I do?’

Protect him, Hearth signed. Junior will try to s-a-b-o-t-a-g-e.

‘Sabotage?’ I frowned. ‘Isn’t that cheating?’

‘I’ve heard about this,’ Sam said. ‘In dwarven contests, you can mess with your competitor as long as you aren’t caught. The interference has to look like an accident, or at least something the judges can’t trace back to you. But it sounds like Junior doesn’t need to cheat to win.’

He will cheat. Hearth made a sign like a hook swinging into a latch. Spite.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll keep Blitz safe.’

Still not enough. Hearth peered at Sam. Only way to win – mess with Junior.

When I told Sam what he’d signed, she turned as grey as a dwarf in sunlight. ‘No.’ She wagged her finger at Hearth. ‘No, absolutely not. I told you.’

Blitz will die, Hearth signed. You did it before.

‘What’s he talking about?’ I asked. ‘What did you do before?’

She got to her feet. The tension in the room was suddenly at DEFCON Two. ‘Hearthstone, you said you wouldn’t mention it. You promised.’ She faced me, her expression shutting down any further questions. ‘Excuse me. I need some air.’

She stormed out of the apartment.

I stared at Hearthstone. ‘What was that?’

His shoulders slumped. His face was empty, drained of hope. He signed, A mistake. Then he climbed onto his sunbed and turned towards the light, his body casting a wolf-shaped shadow across the floor.

Forty-three

Let the Crafting of Decorative Metal Waterfowl Begin

Kenning square looked like a basketball court without the baskets. A chain-link fence bordered a stretch of cracked asphalt. Along one side stood a row of stone pillars carved like totem poles with dragon heads, centipedes and troll faces. Along the other side, bleachers were packed with dwarf spectators. On the court, where the free-throw lines would’ve been, two open-air blacksmith shops were ready for action. Each had a forge with bellows to stoke the fire, an assortment of anvils, a few sturdy tables and racks of tools that looked like torture equipment.

The crowd seemed prepared for a long day. They’d brought coolers, blankets and picnic baskets. A few enterprising dwarves had parked their food trucks nearby. The sign for ÌRI’S HANDCRAFTED CONFECTIONS showed a waffle cone topped with a three-storey ice-cream palace. BUMBURR’S BREAKFAST BURRITOS had a line twenty dwarves long, which made me sorry I’d eaten stale doughnuts at Blitz’s place.

As we approached the court, the crowd gave Blitzen a smattering of applause. Sam was nowhere to

be seen. She’d never come back to the apartment the previous night. I wasn’t sure whether to be worried or angry.

Junior was waiting, leaning on his gold-plated walker. His two bodyguards stood behind him, dressed like their boss in overalls and leather gauntlets.

‘Well, well, Blitzen.’ The old dwarf sneered. ‘Mossglow started ten minutes ago. Were you getting your beauty sleep?’

Blitzen looked like he hadn’t slept at all. His eyes were sunken and bloodshot. He’d spent the past hour worrying about what to wear, finally deciding on grey slacks, a smart white shirt with black braces, pointy black shoes and a pork-pie hat. He might not win for his crafting, but he would definitely get the vote for best-dressed blacksmith.

He glanced around distractedly. ‘Get started?’

The crowd cheered. Hearthstone accompanied Blitzen to the forge. After a night on Blitzen’s tanning bed, the elf’s face had a rosy sheen as if he’d been infused with paprika. Before we left the apartment, he’d cast a rune on Blitz to help him feel rested and focused, which had left Hearth exhausted and unfocused. Nevertheless, Hearth stoked the forge while Blitzen puttered around his workstation, staring in confusion at the racks of tools and baskets of metal ore.

Meanwhile Junior scooted around on his walker, barking at one of his bodyguards to fetch him a lump of iron and a sack of bone chips. The other bodyguard stood watch, scanning for anything that might disrupt his boss’s work.

I tried to do the same for Blitz, but I doubted I looked as intimidating as a muscular dwarf in

overalls. (And, yes, that was depressing.)

After about an hour, my initial adrenaline rush wore off. I began to realize why the spectators had brought picnic lunches. Crafting was not a fast-moving sport. Every once in a while the crowd would clap or murmur approvingly when Junior struck a good hit with his hammer, or plunged a piece of metal into the cooling vat with a satisfying hiss. Nabbi and two other judges paced back and forth between the workstations, scribbling notes on their clipboards. But, for me, most of the the morning was spent standing around with the Sword of Summer in my hand, trying not to look like a fool.

A couple of times I had to do my job. Once a dart shot out of nowhere, heading for Blitzen. The Sword of Summer leaped into action. Before I even knew what was happening, the blade sliced the dart out of the air. The crowd applauded, which would have been gratifying if I’d actually done anything.

A little later, a random dwarf charged me from the sidelines, swinging an axe and screaming, ‘BLOOD!’ I hit him in the head with the hilt of my sword. He collapsed. More polite applause. A couple of bystanders hauled the dwarf away by his ankles.

Junior was busy hammering out a red-hot iron cylinder the size of a shotgun barrel. He’d already crafted a dozen smaller mechanisms that I guessed would fit together with the cylinder, but I couldn’t tell what the final product was supposed to be. The old dwarf’s walker didn’t slow him down at all. He had some trouble shuffling around, but he could stand in one place just fine. Despite his age, his arm muscles were ripped from a lifetime of swinging hammers at anvils.

Meanwhile, Blitzen hunched over his worktable with a pair of needle-nose pliers, connecting thin sheets of curved metal into some kind of figurine. Hearthstone stood nearby, drenched with sweat from working the bellows.

I tried not to worry about how exhausted Hearth looked, or where Sam was, or how many times Blitzen dropped his tools and wept over his project.

Finally Nabbi yelled, ‘Ten minutes until mid-morning break!’

Blitzen sobbed. He attached another sheet of metal to his project, which was starting to resemble a duck.

Most of the crowd focused on the other workstation, where Junior was attaching various mechanisms to the cylinder. He hobbled to the forge and reheated the whole contraption until it was glowing red.

Carefully, he set the cylinder against the anvil, holding it steady with his tongs. He raised his hammer.

Just as he struck, something went wrong. Junior screamed. The hammer went askew, flattening the cylinder and sending attachments flying everywhere. Junior staggered backwards, his hands cupped over his face.

His bodyguards rushed to his aid, crying, ‘What? What is it?’

I couldn’t hear the whole conversation, but apparently some kind of insect had bitten Junior between the eyes.

‘Did you get it?’ asked one of the guards.

‘No! The little pest flew off! Quick, before the cylinder cools –’

‘Time!’ shouted Nabbi.

Junior stomped his foot and cursed. He glared at his ruined project and yelled at his bodyguards.

I went to check on Blitzen, who sat slumped on his anvil. His pork-pie hat was pushed back on his head. His left brace had snapped.

‘How you doing, champ?’ I asked.

‘Horrible.’ He gestured at his project. ‘I made a duck.’

‘Yeah …’ I searched for a compliment. ‘It’s a really nice duck. That’s the bill, right? And those are the wings?’

Hearthstone sat next to us on the asphalt. Ducks, he signed. Always ducks.

‘I’m sorry,’ Blitz moaned. ‘When I’m stressed, I default to waterfowl. I don’t know why.’ ‘No worries,’ I said. ‘Junior had a setback. His first project is pretty much ruined.’

Blitz tried to brush the cinders off his white shirt. ‘It doesn’t matter. Junior’s first item is always his warm-up. He’s got two more chances to destroy me.’

‘Hey, none of that.’ I rummaged through our supply bag and handed out canteens of water and some peanut-butter crackers.

Hearthstone ate like a starving elf. Then he sat back and shone a flashlight on his face, trying to absorb the rays. Blitzen barely sipped his water.

‘I never wanted this,’ Blitz murmured. ‘Crafting contests, magic items. All I ever wanted was to design quality clothing and sell it at reasonable prices in my own store.’

I stared at his sweat-stained collar and thought about what Freya had said: Blitzen is a genius at fabrics and fashion. The other dwarves don’t appreciate his expertise, but I think it’s marvellous. ‘That’s your dream,’ I realized. ‘That’s why you drank from Mimir’s Well – to find out how to

open a clothing shop?’

Blitzen scowled. ‘It was more than that. I wanted to follow my dream. I wanted other dwarves to stop laughing at me. I wanted to avenge my father’s death and restore the family’s honour! But those things didn’t go together. I went to Mimir for advice.’

‘And … what did he say?’

Blitzen shrugged helplessly. ‘Four years of service – that was the price for drinking from his well.

He said the cost of knowledge was also the answer. By serving him, I would get what I wanted. Except I didn’t. Now I’m going to die.’

No, Hearth signed. Someday you will get your dream.

‘How, exactly?’ Blitzen asked. ‘It’s a little hard to cut and sew fabric when you’re decapitated.’ ‘That’s not going to happen,’ I said.

In my chest, several ideas started to smelt together into a usable molten ingot – unless that sensation was just the peanut-butter crackers. I thought about my sword that could turn into a pendant, and Sam’s hijab that was magical high-tech camouflage. ‘Blitz, your next two items are going to be awesome.’

‘How do you know? I might panic and make more ducks!’ ‘You want to make clothing, right? So make clothing.’

‘Kid, this is a forge, not a haberdashery. Besides, fashion is not a recognized craft.’

‘What about armour?’

Blitz hesitated. ‘Well, yeah, but –’

‘What about fashionable clothing that doubles as armour?’

Blitz’s mouth fell open. ‘Balder’s Bling … Kid, you may be on to something!’ He shot to his feet and began hurrying around the workspace, gathering tools.

Hearth beamed at me – literally, since he still had the flashlight aimed at his face. He tapped his free hand to his head – the sign for genius.

When Nabbi called time, I took over at the bellows to give Hearth a rest. He stood guard. Stoking the fire was about as fun as riding a stationary bike inside a baking oven.

After a while, Blitzen took me off the bellows and had me assist with the crafting. I was hopeless at it, but being forced to give me directions seemed to increase Blitz’s confidence. ‘No, put that here. No, the big tongs! Hold it steady, kid! That’s not steady!’

I lost track of time. I didn’t pay much attention to what Blitz was making – something small, woven from chain. Instead I kept thinking about the Sword of Summer, now back in pendant form around my neck.

I remembered walking from the docks to Copley Square, half delirious with hunger and exhaustion, and the imaginary conversation I’d had with the blade. I considered how the sword either hummed or stayed silent, either guided my hand or lay heavy and inert. If it had a soul and emotions – then I hadn’t given it enough credit. I’d been treating it like a dangerous object. I should be treating it like a person.

‘Thanks,’ I said under my breath, trying not to feel ridiculous. ‘When you cut that dart out of the air earlier, you saved my friend. I should’ve thanked you sooner.’

The pendant seemed to grow warmer, though standing next to the forge it was hard to be sure. ‘Sumarbrander,’ I said. ‘Is that what you like to be called? Sorry I’ve been ignoring you.’ Hmmm, the pendant hummed sceptically.

‘You’re much more than a sword,’ I said. ‘You’re not just for slashing at things. You –’ From across the courtyard, Nabbi yelled, ‘Ten minutes until lunch break!’

‘Oh, gods,’ Blitzen muttered. ‘I can’t – Kid, quick! Hand me that texturing hammer.’

His hands flew, snatching up various tools, making minor adjustments to his creation. It didn’t look like much – just a flat, narrow length of chain mail – but Blitz worked as if his life depended on it, which it did.

He folded and crimped the chain mail into its final shape, then soldered the seam. ‘It’s a necktie!’ I realized. ‘Blitzen, I actually recognize what you made!’

‘Thank you. Shut up.’ He raised his soldering gun and announced, ‘Done!’ just as a crash reverberated from Junior’s workstation.

‘GAAHHH!’ screamed the old dwarf. The entire crowd surged to their feet.

Junior was on his butt, cradling his face in his hands. On his worktable sat a flattened, misshapen lump of cooling iron.

His bodyguards rushed to help him.

‘Damnable insect!’ Junior howled. He was bleeding from the bridge of his nose. He looked at his palms but apparently found no squashed bug. ‘I hit it this time, I’m sure! Where is it?’

Nabbi and the other judges frowned in our direction, as if we somehow might have orchestrated a kamikaze insect attack. I guess we looked clueless enough to convince them otherwise.

‘Time for lunch,’ Nabbi announced. ‘One more item shall be made this afternoon!’ We ate quickly, because Blitz was raring to get back to work.

‘I’ve got the hang of it now,’ he said. ‘I’ve got it. Kid, I owe you big-time.’

I glanced over at Junior’s workstation. His bodyguards were glaring at me, cracking their knuckles. ‘Let’s just get through the contest,’ I said. ‘I wish Sam was here. We may need to fight our way

out.’

Hearth gave me a curious look when I mentioned Sam. ‘What?’ I asked.

He shook his head and went back to eating his watercress sandwich.

The afternoon session went quickly. I was so busy on guard duty I barely had time to think. Junior must have hired some extra saboteurs, because every half hour or so I had to deal with a new threat: a spear thrown from the audience, a rotten apple aimed at Blitzen’s head, a steam-powered predator drone and a pair of dwarves in green Spandex jumpsuits wielding baseball bats. (The less said about that, the better.) Each time, the Sword of Summer guided my hand and neutralized the threat. Each time, I remembered to thank the sword.

I could almost discern its voice now: Yeah, okay. Mmm-hmm. I suppose. Like it was slowly warming up to me, getting over its resentment at being ignored.

Hearthstone rushed around the workstation, bringing Blitz extra materials and tools. Blitz was weaving a larger, more complicated piece of metal fabric. Whatever it was, he seemed pleased.

Finally, he set down his bezel roller and shouted, ‘Success!’

At the same moment, Junior suffered his most spectacular fail. His bodyguards had been standing close, ready for another kamikaze insect attack, but it made no difference. As Junior brought down his hammer for a master stroke, a dark speck zipped out of the sky. The horsefly bit Junior on the face so hard he spun sideways under the momentum of his hammer. Wailing and staggering, he knocked both his guards unconscious, destroyed the contents of two worktables and swept his third invention into the forge before he collapsed on the asphalt.

It shouldn’t have been funny – an old dwarf getting humiliated like that. Except that it was, kind of.

Probably because that old dwarf was a spiteful, nasty piece of work.

In the midst of the commotion, Nabbi rang a hand bell. ‘The contest has ended!’ he announced. ‘Time for judging the items … and killing the loser!’

Forty-four

Junior Wins a Bag of Tears

Sam picked that moment to show up.

She shouldered through the crowd, her headscarf pulled low over her face. Her jacket was dusted with ash, as if she’d spent the night in a chimney.

I wanted to yell at her for being gone so long, but my anger evaporated when I noticed her black eye and swollen lip.

‘What happened?’ I asked. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Little scuffle,’ she said. ‘No worries. Let’s watch the judging.’

Spectators gathered around two tables on the sideline, where Junior’s and Blitzen’s crafts were on display. Blitzen stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking confident despite his snapped braces, his grease-stained shirt and his sweat-soaked pork-pie hat.

Junior’s face was a bloody mess. He could barely hold himself up on his walker. The murderous gleam in his eyes made him look like a serial killer exhausted after a hard day’s work.

Nabbi and the other judges circled the tables, inspecting the crafted items and jotting notes on their clipboards.

At last Nabbi faced the audience. He arched his wriggly eyebrows and tried for a smile. ‘Well, then!’ he said. ‘Thank you all for attending this contest, sponsored by Nabbi’s Tavern,

famous among taverns, built by Nabbi and home to Nabbi’s Stout, the only mead you’ll ever need. Now our contestants will tell us about their first items. Blitzen, son of Freya!’

Blitz gestured to his metal sculpture. ‘It’s a duck.’ Nabbi blinked. ‘And … what does it do?’

‘When I press its back …’ Blitzen did so. The duck swelled to three times its size, like a frightened pufferfish. ‘It turns into a larger duck.’

The second judge scratched his beard. ‘That’s it?’

‘Well, yes,’ Blitz said. ‘I call it the Expando-Duck. It’s perfect if you need a small metal duck. Or a larger metal duck.’

The third judge turned to his colleagues. ‘Garden knick-knack, perhaps? Conversation piece?

Decoy?’

Nabbi coughed. ‘Yes, thank you, Blitzen. And now you, Eitri Junior, son of Edna. What is your first creation?’

Junior wiped the blood out of his eyes. He held up his flattened iron cylinder, with several springs and latches dangling from it. ‘This is a self-guiding troll-seeking missile! If it were undamaged, it could destroy any troll at a distance of half a mile. And it’s reusable!’

The crowd murmured appreciatively.

‘Um, but does it work?’ asked the second judge.

‘No!’ Junior said. ‘It was ruined on the final hammer stroke. But if it did work –’ ‘But it doesn’t,’ observed the third judge. ‘So what is it at the moment?’

‘It’s a useless metal cylinder!’ Junior snarled. ‘Which isn’t my fault!’ The judges conferred and scribbled some notes.

‘So, in the first round,’ Nabbi summed up, ‘we have an expandable duck versus a useless metal cylinder. Our contestants are running very close indeed. Blitzen, what is your second item?’

Blitzen proudly held up his chain-mail neckware. ‘The bulletproof tie!’ The judges lowered their clipboards in perfect synchronicity.

‘What?’ asked Nabbi.

‘Oh, come now!’ Blitz turned to the audience. ‘How many of you have been in the embarrassing situation of wearing a bulletproof waistcoat without a matching bulletproof tie?’

In the back of the crowd, one dwarf raised his hand.

‘Exactly!’ Blitzen said. ‘Not only is this accessory fashionable, but it will stop anything up to a 30- 06 round. It can also be worn as a cravat.’

The judges frowned and took notes, but a few audience members seemed impressed. They examined their shirts, maybe thinking how underdressed they felt without a chain-mail neckpiece.

‘Junior?’ asked Nabbi. ‘What is your second work of craftsmanship?’

‘The Goblet of Infinity!’ Junior gestured to a misshapen hunk of iron. ‘It holds a limitless amount of any liquid – great for road trips through waterless wastelands.’

‘Uh …’ Nabbi pointed with his pen. ‘It looks a bit crushed.’

‘Stupid horsefly again!’ Junior protested. ‘It bit me right between the eyes! Not my fault if an insect turned my brilliant invention into a slag heap.’

‘Slag heap,’ Nabbi repeated, jotting on his clipboard. ‘And, Blitzen, your final item?’

Blitzen held up a glittering length of woven-metal fabric. ‘The chain-mail waistcoat! For use with a three-piece suit of chain mail. Or, if you want to dress it down, you can wear it with jeans and a nice shirt.’

And a shield, Hearthstone offered. ‘Yes, and a shield,’ Blitzen said.

The third judge leaned forward, squinting. ‘I suppose it would offer some minor protection. If you were stabbed in the back at a disco, for instance.’

The second judge jotted something down. ‘Does it have any magical abilities?’

‘Well, no,’ Blitz said. ‘But it’s reversible: silver on the outside, gold on the inside. Depending on what jewellery you’re wearing, or what colour armour –’

‘I see.’ Nabbi made a note on his clipboard and turned to Junior. ‘And your final item, sir?’

Junior’s fists trembled with rage. ‘This is unfair! I have never lost a contest. All of you know my skills. This meddler, this poseur Blitzen has somehow managed to ruin my –’

‘Eitri Junior, son of Edna,’ interrupted Nabbi, ‘what is your third item?’

He waved impatiently at the furnace. ‘My third item is in there! It doesn’t matter what it was,

because it’s now boiling sludge!’

The judges circled up and conferred. The crowd shifted restlessly.

Nabbi faced the audience. ‘Judging has been difficult. We have weighed the merits of Junior’s boiling sludge, slag heap and useless metal cylinder against the chain-mail waistcoat, bulletproof tie and Expando-Duck. It was a close call. However, we judge the winner of this contest to be Blitzen, son of Freya!’

Spectators applauded. Some gasped in disbelief. A female dwarf in a nurse’s outfit, possibly Bambi, famous among dwarf nurses, passed out cold.

Hearthstone jumped up and down and made the ends of his scarf do the wave. I looked for Sam, but she was hanging back at the edges of the crowd.

Junior scowled at his fists as if deciding whether to hit himself. ‘Fine,’ he growled. ‘Take my head! I don’t want to live in a world where Blitzen wins crafting contests!’

‘Junior, I don’t want to kill you,’ Blitzen said. Despite his win, he didn’t sound proud or gloating.

He looked tired, maybe even sad.

Junior blinked. ‘You – you don’t?’

‘No. Just give me the earrings and the rope as you promised. Oh, and a public admission that my father was right about Gleipnir all along. You should have replaced it centuries ago.’

‘Never!’ Junior shrieked. ‘You impugn my father’s reputation! I cannot –’

‘Okay, I’ll get my axe,’ Blitzen said in a resigned tone. ‘I’m afraid the blade is a little dull …’

Junior gulped. He looked longingly at the bulletproof necktie. ‘Very well. Perhaps … perhaps Bilì had a point. The rope needed replacement.’

‘And you were wrong to tarnish his reputation.’

The old dwarf’s facial muscles convulsed, but he managed to get out the words. ‘And I was … wrong. Yes.’

Blitzen gazed up into the gloom, whispering something under his breath. I wasn’t a good lip-reader, but I was pretty sure he said, I love you, Dad. Goodbye.

He refocused on Junior. ‘Now, about the items you promised …’

Junior snapped his fingers. One of his bodyguards wobbled over, his head newly bandaged from his recent encounter with a hammer. He handed Blitzen a small velvet box.

‘Earrings for your mother,’ Junior said.

Blitz opened the box. Inside were two tiny cats made from gold filigree like Brisingamen. As I watched, the cats stretched, blinking their emerald eyes and flicking their diamond tails.

Blitz snapped the box shut. ‘Adequate. And the rope?’ The bodyguard tossed him a ball of silk kite string.

‘You’re joking,’ I said. ‘That’s supposed to bind Fenris Wolf?’

Junior glowered at me. ‘Boy, your ignorance is breathtaking. Gleipnir was just as thin and light, but its paradox ingredients gave it great strength. This rope is the same, only better!’

‘Paradox ingredients?’

Blitz held up the end of the rope and whistled appreciatively. ‘He means things that aren’t supposed to exist. Paradox ingredients are very difficult to craft with, very dangerous. Gleipnir

contained the footfall of a cat, the spittle of a bird, the breath of a fish, the beard of a woman.’ ‘Dunno if that last one is a paradox,’ I said. ‘Crazy Alice in Chinatown has a pretty good beard.’

Junior huffed. ‘The point is, this rope is even better! I call it Andskoti, the Adversary. It is woven with the most powerful paradoxes in the Nine Worlds – Wi-Fi with no lag, a politician’s sincerity, a printer that prints, healthy deep-fried food and an interesting grammar lecture!’

Date: 2016-01-05; view: 640