“Ale!” the god cried, pushing a dented metal tankard into Zac’s hands. “Drink!”
Zac set the mug down on the table. “No, thanks,” he said.
Odin looked at the tankard, then back at the boy. “Ale!” he insisted. “Drink!”
“I’ll just have some water.”
There was a sound like thunder as Odin hurled back his head and laughed. “Ah, young Zac, thou dost make me laugh!” he boomed, reverting back to character. “Ale it is!”
He pushed the tankard closer to the boy’s hand. Zac pushed it back. “Water will be fine.”
Odin frowned and gave his beard a stroke. Up close, the Allfather didn’t quite look real. His scaled-up size and the way he exaggerated his movements gave him the appearance of an animatronic puppet from a low-budget children’s movie.
“Water,” the Allfather mumbled. He rolled the word around in his mouth, as if tasting it. “Water. Very well.”
He gave two claps of his hands. Something large immediately dropped from the ceiling and landed beside him. Zac twisted in his chair, tensed, ready to fight, but instead of coming face to face with another Viking, he found himself looking at a tall, slender figure in a black leather bodice and matching leather trousers.
She was a girl, if you ignored the wings. Around his age, he’d say, although he’d been several centuries out with Angelo, so he wasn’t committing to anything at this point.
Her hair was long and dark, tied back behind her head in a functional ponytail. The girl’s white feathery wings folded in against her back with a sound like rustling velvet. She focused her gaze on Odin, not so much as glancing in Zac’s direction.
The girl’s mouth smiled, but her eyes weren’t really in on it. “Yes, Allfather? How may I be of service?”
“Ah, young Herya,” he boomed. “Meet Zac. Zac, Herya here is a—”
“Valkyrie,” said Zac. “You retrieve the souls of Vikings killed in battle and bring them to Valhalla.”
Odin clapped Zac on the back. It was like being slammed across the spine with a shovel. “Very good, Zac! Ye are not as dim as I first suspected!”
“I read a lot.”
“Herya, fetch our guest some...” Odin turned back to Zac. “What was it again?”
“Water.”
“Water,” Odin repeated. He gave a bemused chuckle. “Drinkable water. What will they think of next?”
“Will that be all?”
Odin looked along the table. “Who’s for another round?”
The Vikings’ cheers almost lifted the roof. Shouts came from all corners of the table at once.
“Down here, love.”
“A few more flagons at this end, sweetheart.”
“Ale! And be quick about it!”
Herya reached into her pocket and produced a small notepad and pencil. “All right, keep your helmets on,” she said, fixing her smile in place. Zac watched her hurry along the table, scribbling furiously as drunken orders boomed at her from all directions.
Odin saw Zac watching her. “Terrible shame,” he said. “Poor girl. Born too late.”
“Too late?”
“Didn’t arrive into the world until after the age of true Vikings had passed.” The Allfather shook his head sadly. “Never got the opportunity to soar above the battlefield. Never got to carry the fallen back here to Valhalla. Never got to fulfil her destiny.”
“Oh. Right. Not a happy Valkyrie, then?”
“Quite the opposite,” Odin said. “What could be more fulfilling than an eternity of service in the Great Hall, Valhalla?”
Zac looked along the table to where Herya was frantically scrawling orders in her notepad. “Yeah. What could be better than that?” With a flap of wings, the Valkyrie flew up towards the roof once again. Zac watched her clamber between the rows of circular golden shields that lined the rafters, before she slipped out of sight behind them.
“So, Zac, what bringst thou to Valhalla?”
“I’m looking for a book.”
“A what?”
“A book,” Zac said. “It was stolen. I’m trying to get it back.”
“A book?” Odin frowned. “What, one of them jobbies with the squiggly lines and whatnot?”
“Writing,” Zac nodded. “Yes, one of those.”
The Allfather gave a snort. “Good luck finding one around here.”
“I know where it is, I’m just not sure how to get to it. I was hoping—”
An impromptu song explaining why you should never become romantically involved with a giantess erupted around the table. Odin’s face lit up with glee and the room shook as he lent his voice to the choir. It reminded Zac less of a sing-song, and more of an ugly mob at a football match, chanting about the less desirable qualities of the opposing team.
The roar was so loud Zac failed to hear the footsteps on the floor behind him. He jumped as another dented tankard was set down in front of him.
“There,” Herya said, shouting to make herself heard over the din. She balanced a tray on one hand. A dozen or more tankards were stacked on top of it. “Water.”
“Thanks,” Zac said.
“Second verse, same as the first!” bellowed Odin, and the song rose further in volume. “Oh, a giantess don’t look the best, whatever you do don’t peek up her dress...”
Zac glanced at the Allfather. Clearly he knew nothing about the book, and was going to be no help whatsoever. He turned to the Valkyrie.
“Can I talk to you?” Zac asked.
“You’re talking to me already. Mission accomplished,” Herya said. She moved to walk away, but Zac stood and blocked her path.
“I meant can I ask you some questions?”
Herya stuck out a hip and placed a hand against it. “Do I look like I have time to answer them?”
“Get a shift on, Valkyrie!” shouted someone along the table. The rest of the crowd jeered in agreement, then got stuck into the sing-song again.
“You’re standing between a horde of dead Vikings and their booze,” Herya said. “You want my advice? Move.”
Reluctantly, Zac stepped aside. “Maybe later, then.”
Herya flashed her false smile. “Keep dreaming, mortal.” Her leather outfit creaked softly as she moved along the table, dispensing drinks as she went.
Zac sat back down and leaned his elbows on the table, watching the Valkyrie go. She moved confidently through the crowd, taking their abuse with that smile fixed in place.
“Oh, a giantess, her face is a mess, she’s got a big arse and a hairy chest...”
Further along the table, Angelo was sandwiched between two bear-like Vikings. They had their arms round him and were swaying him back and forth in time with their singing. Angelo’s eyes were wide with horror. They darted anxiously left and right, before he realised Zac was watching him.
Help me, Angelo mouthed silently.
Not now, Zac mouthed back. Don’t panic.
Don’t panic? Don’t panic? I’m being manhandled by two dead Vikings. What do you mean, don’t panic? mimed Angelo frantically, but Zac didn’t catch a word of it, and replied with a double thumbs up.
A sudden crash broke up the singing just long enough for a jeer to go round the room. Zac looked in the direction of the sound and saw a particularly hairy Viking pulling Herya by the arm.
“Stupid Valkyrie,” the man snarled. “Spill ale on me, will you?”
Herya’s tray was on the floor. The Viking who held her had an upturned tankard hooked on to one of the horns of his helmet. The Valkyrie pulled at her arm, but the man’s grip was proving difficult to break.
Zac turned to Odin. “I think Herya’s got a problem customer,” he said.
Odin grunted. “Huh? Oh, right. Not to worry.”
Zac watched the Allfather knock back another tankard of ale, then burp loudly.
“Let go, Jurgen,” Herya said. “It was an accident.”
Jurgen’s free hand clenched into a fist the size of a boulder. “Well, now it’s time for yo
u to have a little accident of your own, Valkyrie.”
“I really think she’s in trouble,” Zac said.
“Well deserved, no doubt,” Odin said. “Don’t worry about it, lad. Valkyries heal quickly.”
The Allfather scooped up another tankard and clanked it against one held by the Viking next to him. They both cheered drunkenly.
Zac looked back to Herya. Jurgen was towering over her, his clenched fist raised. The other Vikings were all chattering and laughing, paying the Valkyrie no attention whatsoever. The girl was on her own.
“I’m more or less dead,” Zac shrugged. He climbed on to the table. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
He began to advance, slowly and deliberately, along the table. “Hey, Jurgen!” he yelled. Jurgen and a few of the other nearby Vikings looked up. “She said it was an accident. Let her go.”
Jurgen’s eyes narrowed. Herya’s widened. Down at the far end of the room, Angelo’s face went pale. Nobody quite knew how to react as Zac continued along the tabletop.
“You dare tell me what to do?” Jurgen growled.
“I’m not telling you. I’m asking you nicely,” said Zac as he arrived next to them. Even standing on the table, Zac was barely the same height as Jurgen. The Viking’s ginger beard seemed to bristle with agitation. “Please. Pretty please with sugar on top. Let her go.”
The laughter and cheering had choked off into silence, and now you could’ve heard a pin drop in Valhalla. All eyes were on Jurgen, waiting to see what he would do next. Zac could feel the tension in the air. Any moment now, the crowd could turn ugly. Or uglier, at least.
“I could rip you in two, boy,” Jurgen said.
Zac held his gaze. “You could try.”
A low Ooooh went round the table. Jurgen’s eyes darted to the other Vikings around him.
“Or you could be the bigger man and let her go, then get back to enjoying the party,” Zac suggested.
Jurgen ground his rotten teeth together. “Very well,” he said at last. His hand opened and Herya pulled free. “She is free to go.”
“Thank you,” said Zac.
The big Viking cracked his knuckles. “I’ll make you pay for her stupidity instead.”
“Hey!”
The voice from the end of the table was shrill and high-pitched. All eyes turned to Angelo, still sandwiched between the two Vikings. The angel swallowed nervously.
“Let’s do that song again. What was it?” He began to clap out of time. “A giantess... she, um, wears a vest...?”
A roar of approval went round the room and the tension immediately lifted. Muscular arms came up and pulled Jurgen down into a happy bear hug, and soon he was singing along with the rest of them, his anger all but forgotten.
Zac jumped from the table and landed beside Herya. The Valkyrie eyed him suspiciously. “Why did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Interfere,” Herya said. “I could have handled him myself.”
“I’m sure you could have,” Zac conceded.
“Why did you help me? What do you want?”
“Nothing, really,” Zac said. “Although now you’re free, maybe I could ask you those questions? It’ll only take a few minutes.”
For a long time she said nothing. Eventually she gave a sigh. “Fine. You’ve got two.”
“Great. Is there somewhere we can go that’s less –” Zac gestured around at the Viking horde – “that?”
“Outside,” Herya said, and she began walking in the direction of the door. Zac followed close behind her.
Two minutes, he mouthed as they passed Angelo.
Angelo’s lips moved in reply. Hurry up. These two are squashing me. And they smell. And I’m pretty sure I need to go to the toilet again.
But Zac once again had absolutely no idea what the angel was trying to say. He gave another thumbs up, then hurried outside after the Valkyrie.
The door closed shut and the racket within was muted just a little. Herya turned to face Zac, her hands on her hips. “Two minutes,” she said. “Starting now.”
“I’m looking for a book,” Zac began, not wasting any time. “You... um... you know what a book is, right?”
“Yes,” she said, and the temperature seemed to plummet a few degrees further. “I know what a book is.”
“Right, good. Well, this one has been taken from... Well, it doesn’t matter where it was taken from, but it’s now in Hell.”
“Single or double L?”
Zac hesitated. “What?”
“Is the book in Hell, double L, or Hel, single L?”
“What’s the difference?”
“Double L’s a place. Single L’s the daughter of Loki.”
Zac tutted quietly. “Well, the place, obviously. How would the daughter of Loki have a book in her?”
Herya shrugged. “She’s a big lass. You’re eating into your two minutes,” the Valkyrie advised. “Get to the point.”
“I need to find a way into Hell, and I thought someone here might know something.”
Herya’s gaze was witheringly cold. “Here? In Valhalla?”
“Yeah. Well, we sort of ended up here by accident,” Zac said. “I suppose it was a bit of a long shot.”
“Yes,” agreed the Valkyrie. “It was a bit.”
Zac nodded. Suddenly he felt very stupid. “Yeah. Daft idea, really.” He turned and pulled open the door. Roars of laughter rushed past him. “Sorry for wasting your time. Thanks for the water.”
“Wait.”
Zac turned back.
“I said it was a long shot,” the Valkyrie said. “I didn’t say you were wrong.”
NGELO WATCHED THE door close again and felt his heart sink. The din in the hall was deafening. The smell of stale Viking sweat was all around him. The singing had degenerated into drunken slurring, and flecks of foamy spit felt like scattered showers all along the table.
He was alone in a room filled with godless heathens. OK, technically not godless. They had plenty of gods. Too many, if anything. There was only one God as far as Angelo was concerned, and you wouldn’t catch Him singing about what lurked under a giantess’s skirt.
A tankard of ale was slid in front of him. He gave it a quick prod, nudging it away. A rough, scarred hand swooped and grabbed the tankard and it was downed in one noisy schlurp.
The song reached some sort of shambling conclusion. The Vikings all cheered at this, but then Angelo was beginning to suspect they’d cheer at pretty much anything.
“More song!” shouted someone along the table who was apparently too drunk to even have a bash at full sentences. As expected, everyone cheered. Everyone, that is, except Odin.
“No, no, no!” he bellowed. “Enough singing. Let’s dance!”
A roar of delighted agreement made Angelo cover his ears. All around the table, Vikings began to shout out the names of their favourite dances.
“The Filthy Hag!” cried one.
“Too slow,” said Odin. “We need something upbeat.”
“The Shepherd’s Daughter,” suggested another of the Vikings. He stood up and threw his hands above his head. No one was quite sure why.
“And who’s going to be the daughter?” Odin asked. “You?”
The standing Viking thought about this. He lowered his arms and sat down.
“The Deathly Hallows?” volunteered someone else.
Odin shook his head. “No, no. Far too long and complicated. We’d be here all bloody night.” He clicked his fingers and pointed along the table. “You,” he said. “What’s your name again?”
Angelo swallowed nervously. “Um... Angelo.”
“Umangelo, right,” said Odin. “What about you, Umangelo? What dances do you know?”
“I, uh, I don’t really know any.”
Odin banged a fist on the table. Angelo jumped in time with all the dishes and plates. “You must know one dance,” Odin insisted. “Everyone knows one dance. Come on, boy, think.”
Angelo thought. W
ith the eyes of a hundred dead Vikings and their god burrowing into him, he thought harder than he had ever thought in his life until – at last – a single word popped into his head.
He stood up. He cleared his throat. “OK,” he said. “I’ve got one.”
Zac looked at Herya expectantly. “So... what? You do know something?”
“I know a lot of things,” Herya said. She gave a short snort of laughter. “You don’t think this is all I do, do you? Serving drinks to meatheads? I travel. I go on adventures. I see things.”
“Right,” said Zac. “Well, good for you. But what about the book? Do you know about the book?”
“Maybe. Where exactly is it?”
“I already told you, it’s in Hell.”
Herya sighed. “Yes, I know that, but where exactly is it? What circle is it on?”
“The tenth.”
“There is no tenth.”
“There is now.”
The Valkyrie’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “They’ve built a new circle in Hell?”
Zac shrugged. “Looks like it.”
“Must be an important book.”
“It is. Hell calls it the Book of Doom. It’s also got the potential to be the most powerful weapon in existence. Or so I’m told.”
Before Herya could respond, the door at Zac’s back was yanked open. Angelo staggered out. His face was red and slick with sweat. Odin stood behind him, bending down so he could hold on to the boy’s hips. As Angelo and the Allfather emerged, Zac realised there was a whole train of Vikings following in single file behind them.
“Conga, conga, cong-a!” they hollered, as Angelo led the line out into the snow. “Conga, conga, cong-a!”
Angelo met Zac’s unblinking stare. Help me, he mouthed, then he was off leading the conga in a wide circle round the Great Hall.
“Conga, conga, cong-a!” chanted the horde, kicking up clumps of snow on every third word. By the time the end of the line came out through the door, the front was making its way back in again.
Now would be a good time, said Angelo silently, but Zac just watched as the long snake of Vikings danced their way back inside Valhalla, and closed the door behind them.
Zac and Herya stood in the near silence, listening to the soft pitter-patter of the falling snow.
The Book of Doom Page 6