by Holt, Tom
Just a moment, Paul wanted to say; all that stuff, fighting the Fey, losing Sophie, dying, and it was all just office politics? He wanted to say it rather a lot, but he knew instinctively that Ricky wouldn’t understand what he was making such a fuss about. ‘Oh well,’ he said, and refilled his horn from the jug, which was still full to overflowing. Time to change the subject, before he said something he shouldn’t. Ricky might have turned out to be no better than the rest of them, but an indebted bastard is rather more use than a resentful one, and offending his only ally on the letterhead probably wasn’t a good idea. ‘Funny thing happened earlier,’ he said. ‘Mr Tanner’s mum asked me to be her baby’s godfather.’
‘Is that right?’ Ricky turned and looked at him. ‘Congratulations. That’s quite an honour. It’s well worth keeping in with that crowd, especially in our line of work.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh yes.’ Ricky nodded gravely. ‘Not much in the way of dragons, of course, but they do get a lot of pest trouble – cave trolls, gnomes, gremlins and so forth. Nice little filler jobs you can do when things are quiet. And from time to time they have wars, border disputes and so forth. A good goblin war can mean serious billable hours, especially if the other side’s got in outside help too. Of course, Dennis has got the goblin sector pretty well in his pocket, being family and all, but it never hurts to have contacts of your own.’
‘I see,’ Paul sighed. A couple of tables down, two very large men had started bashing each other with axes. Their armour seemed to be standing up to the blows, and they were laughing. Probably the local equivalent of a friendly game of darts. ‘It’s good about Benny Shumway and Mo—’ He stopped abruptly, unable to remember whether Ricky – the real Ricky, not Judy in disguise – knew about that yet. Fortunately, Ricky smiled.
‘Yes, I think so,’ he said. ‘They’ll be good for each other, I think, and if he can find some way of turning her back, that’ll be a nice bonus. Though at times I get the impression she’s happier as she is. She was a very difficult teenager. Being a car’s been mostly a positive experience for her, I think.’
‘Right,’ Paul said vaguely, and stood up. ‘Well, thanks for the drink. I think I’ll go home now.’
Ricky nodded. ‘I might stay on for a bit,’ he said. ‘Never hurts to be seen, you know. Oh, before you go, I’ve got something for you.’
Paul hesitated, and sat down again. ‘Really?’ he said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
‘Here.’ Ricky delved into his inside pocket and took out what appeared to be a small silver paperknife. He tapped it three times against the edge of the table, and it grew into a full-sized sword, complete with scabbard. ‘If you’re going to stay in the pest-control sector you’ll need one of these,’ he said, ‘and to be honest, I never did get on with it, so you might as well have it.’
‘Um,’ Paul said. He took it reluctantly, as though it was liable to bite. ‘Thanks.’
‘Her name is Skofnung,’ Ricky went on. ‘Used to belong to King Hrolf Kraki. Go on, take a closer look. Rather a nice pattern, I think.’
Well, you have to be polite; so Paul gripped the scabbard with his left hand and pulled the blade out an inch or so. To his surprise, it wasn’t bright and shiny; the edges were dark brown, with intricate patterns of silver specks and whorls, and the middle was a sort of sea blue. ‘Damascus steel,’ Ricky explained, or at least Paul guessed it was meant as an explanation. ‘You never find two the same, which makes it easier, of course.’
All right, Paul thought, I’ll ask. ‘Makes what easier?’
Ricky narrowed his eyes. ‘Finding her, of course,’ he said; then, ‘I forgot, you obviously don’t know. It’s a living sword, right?’
‘Is it?’ Somehow, Paul got the impression that the sword hadn’t liked him saying that. ‘I mean right, yes. Obviously.’
Ricky laughed. ‘A living sword,’ he said, ‘is special because it has a life of its own – which is good, because it knows what it’s doing when in use, so you don’t have to. But it does mean you have to find its other half before it’s much good for anything, and,’ he added, grimacing slightly, ‘I have to admit, I never did find her. And without the other half, of course, it’s pretty much useless.’
Paul managed not to sigh, though he really didn’t feel in the mood for any more of this sort of thing. ‘Other half,’ he said.
‘That’s right. A living sword has a human counterpart, and once you find – oh, excuse me,’ Ricky said suddenly, and Paul noticed that a huge, ferocious-looking warrior type was standing by the door and waving. ‘Bloke I need to see about something. Look, you hang on to the sword for now, and I’ll explain another time. See you at the office tomorrow,’ he added, and hurried across the room, leaving Paul sitting bemusedly with a large sword on the table in front of him.
Hesitantly, he picked it up; it was painfully heavy, and he couldn’t imagine being able to do anything useful with it, except maybe weigh down an extremely large pile of paper. He considered just leaving it there, but Ricky might notice and be offended. Then he remembered; he picked it up and nudged the side of the table with it three times. At once it shrank – it was like holding a live fish – until it was paperknifesized again. Paul looked at it. Oh well, he said to himself, more junk. Screwdrivers and scout badges and bits of coloured glass, and now this. I’ll have to get myself a garden shed to keep it all in. Still, it was the thought that counted. Presumably.
He managed to find his way out of Valhalla without getting stabbed, walked slowly home and let himself into the flat. It was dark and very quiet, and empty. When he switched on the light, he saw empty spaces where things had been; Sophie must have been there, picked up her stuff and gone. She’d hardly taken anything, but the gaps left seemed huge, unchartable, like the Atlantic before Columbus.
Well, Paul thought, here I am.
He found an old shoebox to keep the magic bits and pieces in, sellotaped the lid shut and stuck it on top of the wardrobe, where he wouldn’t have to look at it. Then he brushed his teeth, hung up his suit, got into his pyjamas and went to bed.