“Oh, hush,” said Gat. “If we’re going to get out of this mess alive, we need to work together. You know those giants are up to no good, cousin. I wouldn’t trust them as far as Thialfi could throw one of them.”
“Do you mean they might not go through with the deal?” I asked, unbuckling his harness.
“They wouldn’t be the first to break an oath,” said Gat darkly. “Now get us out of this harness, then get in there and mingle with the servants. You might learn something.”
I quickly finished settling the goats and trotted toward the back door.
“Oh, look!” cried someone. “Here’s Freya’s goat maid, come to help with the serving!”
Clearly, Hralf had repeated what I’d told him outside.
The kitchen was dim, lit mostly by fires in the great hearths all around the room where whole oxen were being roasted, six to a spit. Several giantesses were lumbering around, poking at the meat and checking various pots, each of which was big enough to boil a whole person.
“Here, girl,” said one of them, thrusting a tray into my hands. “You’re so anxious to serve yer lady, carry these in to her. And mind you don’t let none of those other great oafs take them. These are made special for the guest.”
I nearly collapsed under the weight of the tray, which was wide as a warrior’s shield. Piled high on it were dumplings the size of my head. They smelled surprisingly good. It was all I could do to keep from drooling.
One of the lady giants held the door open for me, and I staggered into the main hall.
What an uproar!
Half-drunk giants were lounging everywhere. It seemed as if most of them had brought their dogs to the feast as well. This made me nervous, since the smallest of the beasts was nearly as big as me.
The giants were singing. Their song reminded me of something I’d heard once—an avalanche.
A fire roared in the great hearth at one end of the room. Near it was the bride’s table, where Thor, arrayed in all his feminine glory, sat at Thrym’s right. Loki was at the giant’s left, chattering away at him. The room was so smoky—the chimney clearly needed cleaning—that I was not able to get a good look at Thrym himself.
I started toward the table, weaving my way among the giants, eager to see our main enemy. But before I had taken five steps, a huge form loomed in front of me.
“Ah!” rumbled a deep voice. “Goodies!”
“These are for the lady,” I said, trying to sound braver than I felt—which wasn’t easy since I was also trying to keep my voice high and girlish.
“Oh, the lady,” snarled the giant. “Ain’t that lovely, having the lady get all the best of it. What that fool Thrym is thinking of, I can’t say. By all means, little girl, take them goodies to the lady.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said. I started to walk past him, but the tray was so big, and I was trying so hard to manage it, that I didn’t notice when he stuck his foot right in my path.
I stumbled, and fell to the floor with a crash. The giants burst out laughing and cheering. Then they all sang:
“The servant falls
Like Asgard’s walls
Crashing down, crashing down.
Fire and gloom,
Joyous doom
Crashing down, crashing down.”
They all raised their mugs and clanked them together, then drank heartily.
But Loki leaped to his feet and cried in an imperious voice, “Who dares touch my lady Freya’s serving girl? Thrym, are your bride’s servants not safe in her own house?”
Looking shamefaced, Thrym stood and bellowed, “Touch not that maiden!”
“That’s better,” huffed Loki. Then he lifted his skirts and strode through the giants until he was at my side. Hauling me to my feet, he dragged me back toward the kitchen. As we walked he leaned close, and in a low voice whispered, “The giants have got some plot going on, Thialfi, but I can’t figure out what it is. I’d go do some snooping, but I daren’t leave Thor—it’s all I can do to keep him from leaping to his feet and giving the game away as it is. I need you to do some spying. Report back to me if you find anything.”
Then he pushed me into the kitchen, shouting, “Women of Jotunheim, you had best teach your brothers better manners! One of them thought it funny to trip our serving girl, which has spoilt the dumplings. I must tell you, Freya is most vexed.”
“Those great fools,” grumbled one of the giantesses, shaking her apron. “You’d think they were brought up in a barn.”
“My brother were brought up in a barn,” cackled another. “Father said he weren’t fit to be in the house!”
That got all the women laughing, which took some of the tension out of the room. I was glad of that, for I feared once Loki left, they would cuff me for dropping the dumplings. One blow from their bread-loaf-sized hands would probably knock me senseless for days.
Loki pulled down his veil enough to glare about the kitchen and make sure they all understood that Freya’s servants were not to be trifled with. Then he sniffed, tossed his braids over his shoulder, and stalked back into the banquet hall.
“Ain’t she high and mighty!” exclaimed one of the giantesses.
“She won’t be for long,” muttered another of them.
“Hush!” snapped a third, kicking her.
Loki was right. The giants were planning something, and I had to find out what it was. But before I could decide what to do next, we heard a horrible banging and crashing at the door that led outside.
“Now what?” muttered one of the giantesses. She stumped to the door and flung it open, then turned back and bellowed, “It’s for you, goat girl!”
10
Skalpa
I hurried to the door. To my surprise, Gat-Tooth was standing there.
“What do you want?” I hissed.
Gat shook his beard and bleated at me piteously. It took me longer than it should have to realize that what he didn’t want was for the giantesses to know he could talk.
“Some sort of trouble in the stable,” I called over my shoulder, remembering to keep my voice pitched high. Then I followed him outside.
“Thrym is up to no good,” he said as soon as we were clear of the kitchen.
“We knew that already,” I pointed out.
He nipped at me. “Don’t be foolish, Thialfi! I didn’t take the risk of coming to the door just to tell you what you already know. Grinder and I got into a conversation with some of the stable rats. They don’t know the whole plot, but from what they told us, we think Thrym is planning to give Thor a fake hammer.”
“Why would they do that? Thor will know at once if it’s a fake.”
“Of course he will,” said Gat. “But Thrym doesn’t know that’s Thor. He thinks it’s Freya!”
The horrible truth was starting to sink in. I worked it through out loud. “Freya wouldn’t know the hammer is a fake—which means Thor won’t be able to say anything about it without revealing that he’s not really Freya!”
“That’s about it,” said Gat, nodding. “Even worse, without his hammer, Thor won’t be able to bash the giants. So he’ll have to keep up the disguise. Which means—”
My eyes widened. “Which means he’ll have to go through with the wedding! But he can’t marry Thrym!”
“Of course not,” said Gat. He paused, then said, “Well, I suppose he can. But it won’t take Thrym long to figure out that he’s been deceived. Even he’s not that stupid! So the truth is going to come out one way or the other. When it does, it’s not going to be pretty.”
“This is terrible! What can we do?”
“We? We can’t do anything. It’s up to you.”
“Me?” I asked, eager to help yet frightened to know what might be required of me.
“I brought a friend,” said Gat. He turned and made a funny noise. Out of the darkness scurried the biggest rat I had ever seen. The creature was easily the size of a small dog.
I squeaked and stepped backward.
“Ju
st because you’re wearing a dress doesn’t mean you get to act all girly,” snapped Gat. “This is Skalpa. She’s volunteered to lead you to the real hammer.”
“Where is it?” I asked.
“Buried deep in the earth, just as Thrym said. It’s not fully eight miles down, of course—even you couldn’t go that far and be back in time to do any good. That’s just the way the giants tend to talk. But it’s hidden deep enough.”
“Can she talk?” I asked, eyeing the rat.
“To us. I don’t think she can talk to a human.”
I glanced at Skalpa. Her beady eyes glittered in the torchlight that spilled from Thrym’s windows.
“How do I know she’s not planning to make a meal out of me?”
“That’s a chance we’ll just have to take,” said Gat.
“I’m the one who’ll be taking the chance!”
“Well, you’re also the one who let that dwarf into Bilskirnir in the first place. So here’s your chance to make up for your mistake.”
He turned to Skalpa and made a series of sounds that were a weird mix of braying and squeaking. The rat replied in the same way.
“She says to follow her,” said Gat. “If it gets too dark, you can hold on to her tail.” Lowering his voice, he added, “Take my advice and don’t pull. If you do, she’ll probably bite you.”
“Great,” I muttered.
“Stop whining, and do what has to be done!”
Skalpa reared up on her hind legs—her head came nearly to my waist—and made a series of sharp shrieks. Then she turned and scuttled into the darkness.
“Go after her!” snapped Gat. When I hesitated, he gave me a nip on the rear end.
I yelped and started forward.
I had thought Skalpa was going to lead me to some secret tunnel in the woods or something. To my surprise, she headed back toward Thrym’s house. I could hear a stream nearby, and the roistering of the giants, who were singing a song that I would blush to repeat. It hardly seemed fit for a wedding.
I wondered how Thor and Loki were getting on—and as I was wondering, ran smack into Hralf’s back. He yelped, and from the sound of the falling water suddenly stopping—not a stream after all—I realized he had come outside to relieve himself.
Quickly arranging his trousers, Hralf turned and said, “Well, if it hain’t the goat girl! Changed your mind about that kiss, sweetheart?”
Then he swept me into his arms, puckered his lips, and lowered his great pimply face toward mine.
11
Journey in the Dark
I squirmed and struggled, but it was no use. Hralf, being a giant, was far stronger than me. But just as he was about to plant a slobbering kiss on my mouth, his eyes went wide and he screeched with pain. He released me and spun around. I could see Skalpa dangling by her teeth from his hind parts.
Hralf swatted at her, and she leaped to the ground and hurried into the darkness.
“A rat!” I cried. “I’ll get it!”
I raced after her, leaving Hralf clutching his bottom and yowling in pain.
Soon Skalpa and I rounded another corner of the house, where we came to a wooden door set in the ground—obviously a root cellar. Skalpa scrabbled at it. I grabbed the handle and pulled. It was so heavy—it was made for a giant, after all—that my first effort didn’t even budge it. Bracing my legs, I pulled again and managed to raise it about a foot. At once Skalpa slipped through and into the darkness. Panting and gasping, I wedged myself under the edge of the door. It pressed against me, and for a moment I feared I would be trapped there, halfway in and halfway out. I imagined Hralf finding me, and thought of the kisses he might demand to free me. That was enough. With a single mighty heave, I raised the door and slipped through.
Inside the darkness was complete. It was not only sight that was gone. Sound had disappeared, for the heavy door and the earthen walls completely shut out the noises from the giants’ bumptious party. As I stood alone in the silent blackness, a surge of terror washed over me—terror that grew when Skalpa came back and nudged against me.
Even if you suspect she’s your friend, there’s something very creepy about the feel of a giant rat nudging you in the darkness. Terror or not, there was no way around it: I was going to have to follow her. “Well, at least I don’t need to wear a dress while we do this,” I said. “Let me get out of it.”
I don’t know why I spoke out loud. I certainly didn’t expect Skalpa to understand me. Maybe I just wanted to hear the sound of my own voice.
I was eager to be relieved of the constraint of the dress. But to my disgust, I still didn’t know how to work the fastenings. Not being able to see didn’t help, of course. As I fussed with the thing, the package Roskva had given me just before we left Asgard fell to the floor. I had almost forgotten about it. Now, to my astonishment, I saw that it was actually casting a dim light in that horrible darkness. Snatching it up, I unwrapped the cloth.
Inside was a smooth-edged block about the size and thickness of my hand. It glowed with a smooth, cool light, almost as if it were a miniature moon. I ran my fingers over it in awe. Hard as stone and smooth as polished brass, it did not feel quite like either thing.
Skalpa reared up to sniff at it, squeaking curiously.
Whatever the glowing block was made of, wherever Roskva had gotten it, it was the most welcome thing imaginable. It wasn’t bright enough that I could see the cellar walls. But I could certainly see the floor in front of me, and that was enough to get started.
It’s amazing how a little light can make you feel safer and more confident.
As I breathed a silent thank-you to Roskva, Skalpa squeaked again, then darted into the darkness.
I followed her.
At the back of the root cellar, my ratty companion disappeared into a hole at the base of the wall. Though the hole was large enough for Skalpa to pass through easily, I had to struggle and squirm to follow.
“I wish I could have gotten rid of this dratted dress,” I muttered as I pulled myself forward, not even able to get up on my knees. Finally I put Roskva’s gift in my mouth and clamped it between my teeth so I could use both hands to drag myself along.
After about ten feet, we came to a broad, high tunnel. I returned Roskva’s light to my hand—which was a relief to my aching jaw.
Though I couldn’t see very far, I could tell the tunnel stretched on to both my right and my left. So it didn’t actually lead to Thrym’s home, which had been my first thought. Instead, it simply passed close by. Skalpa—or someone—had burrowed over to it from the root cellar.
Or maybe the burrowing had gone in the other direction.
The rat turned and started off to the right. I trotted after her, glad to be on my feet and moving freely. The tunnel floor was smooth and even. Skalpa kept moving faster and faster, as if testing to see if I could keep up with her. I snatched up the edge of my dress so I could move more easily. Soon we were moving at a jog, and then a full run.
It was frightening to go that fast when I couldn’t see more than three feet in front of me. I might run smack into a wall, or shoot over the edge of a cliff. But I kept telling myself that Skalpa didn’t want to die any more than I did, and she must know what she was doing. Soon I noticed the tunnel was sloping downward. The descent was gentle at first, but quickly grew quite steep.
We ran on.
Suddenly Skalpa stopped, which was when I discovered that though I could run as fast as she could, I couldn’t stop as quickly. The tricky thing about running downhill is that you can get going too fast, so that it’s hard to stop without falling. Trying to avoid treading on Skalpa, I swerved, stumbled, hit the floor, rolled, and came to a stop with half my body dangling over the edge of—well, I didn’t know of what. There was nothing but darkness below me, so I had no idea how far it was to the bottom. If I fell, it might only be for a foot or two. But it might as easily be hundreds or even thousands of feet down.
Actually, I suppose it was possible that there was no bottom
at all, and if I fell I would just keep on tumbling down forever, falling on and on even after I died from lack of food and water.
I needed both hands, so I tossed Roskva’s light a few feet behind me, where it would be safe on the tunnel floor. (I was afraid if I put it in my mouth again, I might accidentally lose it in the darkness below me.) Slowly, with muscles powered by fear, I pulled myself back onto the solid rock.
Skalpa looked at me oddly, as if she was wondering what kind of human nonsense I was up to.
Now that I had time to look, I saw that to my left, not more than a foot and a half from where I had fallen, was the start of a stone bridge.
I had suspected that the tunnel we were moving through was not natural, but I’d had no way of knowing for sure. Now I was certain. This bridge was dwarf work, and no doubt about it.
Skalpa scampered onto it.
I retrieved Roskva’s light, then followed. I moved much more slowly than the rat. But since the bridge was not more than two feet wide, and had no rails on the sides, I had no intention of running.
The bridge arched upward. Moving in the small circle of light cast by Roskva’s gift, I had no idea how far the rocky ceiling vaulted above me, how wide the opening from left to right, how deep the fall below. I was a tiny speck in a vast, unseen emptiness, and it terrified me.
Skalpa kept turning and squeaking, as if impatient for me to move more quickly.
“I’m going as fast as I can,” I muttered. Realizing that this was not completely true, and that the fate of all Asgard might depend on me, I sped up a bit.
Finally we came to the end of the bridge.
Skalpa began to run again. We turned corners, trotted into side tunnels, took smaller turns from those, until despite my best efforts to keep track of where we were going, I knew I would be hopelessly lost if the rat abandoned me.
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