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  But Heimdall (who was in charge of supplies) was painfully aware that time itself was now in shortest supply, and that if they hoped to reach World’s End before their remaining time had elapsed, then they would have to achieve something fairly impressive as far as speed and teamwork were concerned. Which was a pity, Heimdall thought, because so far neither teamwork nor speed had proved remotely achievable.

  Twenty-four hours had already passed since they had set off from Malbry. In that time they had managed to cover no more than eighteen miles, or the distance between Malbry and the Hindarfell. A cheerless, mostly sleepless night had been spent in a bothy by the roadside, and the following day had been largely taken up with Freyja complaining about her feet; Idun stopping to gather herbs; the Wolf Brothers eating everything in sight and chasing every rabbit that came within a mile of the road; Odin’s ravens taunting the wolves; Bragi trying to cheer people up with a variety of singing styles; Skadi quarrelling with Njörd; Jolly quarrelling with Sugar; and Thor quarrelling with everyone. Nightfall had come as quite a relief, in spite of their painful progress, and by the time they stopped for the night, Heimdall was exhausted.

  They found a small inn called the Moon and Stars, in which, for a generous payment (summoned, of course, by the money-rune Fé), the Watchman was able, first, to bribe the landlord, who claimed he had never seen such goings-on, and secondly, to pay for half a dozen rooms – not enough for all of them, but the landlord had insisted that no animals be allowed in the building, which meant that several of their number had to be banished to the barn, including Skadi, who had of course taken umbrage at having to share with the Wolf Brothers, and Njörd, who had joined them to keep the peace.

  This turned out to be a mistake, as Heimdall soon discovered; for by the end of the evening Hughie and Mandy had found their way into the pantry, where they had started an impromptu party (to which only they were invited), in the course of which they managed to make so much noise and affray that the landlord was roused, and, emboldened by righteous anger as well as the prospect of generous compensation, had stormed up to Heimdall’s room to demand an explanation.

  It had been decided during the course of their trip that Heimdall should represent the group. He’d always been closest to the Folk; he was well-spoken and presentable as well as being a skilled negotiator, whereas Skadi’s idea of negotiation was to strike first and negotiate later, and Thor didn’t even know how to spell ‘negotiation’.

  This was why the landlord, whose name was Mr Mountjoy, had rightly assumed that Heimdall was in charge, and why the Watchman now found him, at one o’clock in the morning, standing at his bedside in nightshirt and cap, every whisker on his face bristling with outrage.

  ‘Sir, I must protest!’ he said.

  Lucky for Mr Mountjoy that Heimdall slept with one eye open. If he’d wakened Thor in that way, there might have been serious consequences. As it was, the Watchman sat up and bared his teeth at the landlord.

  ‘Couldn’t this wait till morning?’ he said, with dangerous composure.

  ‘It certainly could not,’ said Mr Mountjoy. ‘May I tell you, sir, that in twenty years of being landlord of the Moon and Stars, and furthermore being, if I may say so, more than cognizant of the ways of travellers and Outlanders and Wilderlanders such as yourselves—’

  Heimdall considered a silencing charm, but knew that he should preserve his glam. He simply narrowed his eyes and said: ‘Please. Just get to the point, all right?’

  But Mr Mountjoy was still in full flow. ‘Let it be known, sir,’ he went on, ‘that I have never seen such carryings-on as I have witnessed this evening. Birds, loose women, dwarves, savage dogs, woofs – I’ll have you know I don’t hold with woofs, be they tamed or otherwise – roaming loose around the place, terrifying the customers—’

  ‘But we are the only people here!’ said Heimdall in frustration.

  ‘Nonetheless, the principle stands.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ said the Watchman, almost snarling. ‘How much to silence your … principles?’

  Mr Mountjoy scratched his head. ‘Well, there’s four shilling for the veal pie that I was fancying for tomorrow’s lunch; twenty for the two bags of sugar; ten for a churn of best butter; ten for a bushel of apples; six for the ravages done to a pudding I had laid by for Yuletime. Oh, and the bread, of course. Call it twenty. Plus distress and disturbance … Call it an even hundred.’

  Heimdall narrowed his eyes still more. Those thrice-damned birds were becoming more than troublesome; and to judge from the sounds he had heard from behind the barn as he tried to get to sleep, he guessed that he would soon be asked to pay for damage caused to the erstwhile occupants of a henhouse by three demon wolves and a sea-eagle.

  Did they think he was made of money? Heimdall asked himself plaintively. Even with the rune Fé, cash was not something he could pluck from mid-air without serious consequences to his glam, and the Universal City was still a long way away. In just seven days, something big was going to happen in World’s End, and if he had read the signs aright, then this was a party for which none of them could afford to be late.

  For the first time in his life Heimdall began to regret the absence of Loki, whose quicksilver tongue and sharp wits would have made short work of their problem.

  ‘You’ll have your money, landlord,’ he said. ‘Now will you let me get some sleep?’

  As it happened, he managed less than an hour before the landlord was back again. Sugar-and-Sack, still more goblin than god when faced with the prospect of strong drink, had tunnelled into the cellar, where Jolly was already waiting for him, having first imbibed a whole keg of ale.

  There had ensued an altercation, liberally punctuated with flagons of ale, which had rapidly descended into a fight when Jolly took umbrage at being called Stumpy, and responded by saying that Sugar was fat.

  At this point the landlord had called Frederick Law, who, entering the scene of the crime, found both perpetrators lying, blind drunk, by a silent pool of spilled ale. He carried them off to the local roundhouse; then returned with Mr Mountjoy to ensure that Heimdall was correctly informed.

  ‘Because statute nineteen of County Law clearly states,’ said the lawman, ‘that a man must take responsibility for the actions of his underlings, including damage caused by same, and if these two dwarves belong to you, as I am led to believe …’ He paused to peer at Heimdall.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s just that we don’t see many dwarves here, sir. Exactly what kind of business brings you to these parts?’

  Heimdall took a deep breath. ‘It’s two o’clock in the morning,’ he hissed. ‘Wake me at nine.’ Which response merely confirmed Fred Law’s suspicions that the fellow with the golden teeth and the fancy armour was some kind of Wilderlands warlord with no respect for property or the Law; and so he called out his posse and set them to watching the Moon and Stars, just in case the party decided to up sticks and leave without paying their bill.

  Which was why that morning at four o’clock, when Njörd and Skadi left the barn to embark on a further spot of hunting, the first thing they saw was a posse of the Folk, armed with spears and crossbows, sheltering in the porch of the inn and watching them in astonishment.

  The first thing the lawman did was go and complain to Heimdall again, which gave the Watchman no choice but to order his livestock back into the barn – now secured with a padlock – and hope that nothing else happened.

  His optimism – such as it was – was short-lived. He was awoken once more (this time at dawn) by the sound of raised voices. Getting up in haste to discover the cause of the commotion, he found the entire posse gathered in the smaller of the inn’s two dining rooms, where Freyja, never able to resist the temptation to perform, was holding court – in Aspect – to a dozen noisy admirers; meanwhile, in the larger dining room, Thor was eating a whole roast ox while Frey attacked a side of beef, Sif was protesting loudly in front of a plate of sausages, Bragi and Idun were singing a duet, an
d Ethel was calmly dunking biscuits in tea while all Hel was let loose next door.

  ‘We may have a little problem,’ she said.

  ‘Oh gods,’ said Heimdall.

  The scene in the smaller dining room was already beyond disastrous. The Folk were very easy to charm. Already the goddess of desire had them all competing ridiculously for her favour: eyes and noses had been blackened and bruised; pieces of furniture had been overturned in the scuffle for her attention.

  One fellow lay at her feet like a dog; another hastened to bring her a cup of wine; several had tried to write poetry, with truly awful results; and even Fred Law and Mr Mountjoy were grinning like fools while Freyja – dressed all in white, her runemark gleaming guinea-gold against her bare shoulder and her long red hair spilling down her back like some kind of fabulous bridal veil – watched through modestly lowered lashes and smiled like the blade of a golden knife.

  The Watchman immediately banished the charm by casting the rune Fé, reversed.

  Freyja, in human Aspect, leaped to her feet. ‘You!’ she spat at Heimdall. ‘You always have to spoil things!’

  Heimdall gave her a quelling look. ‘You forget yourself, lady,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t you lady me, you killjoy. I was having a good time till you came along! Why don’t you just lock me in the barn with the others? Or with Sif in the piggery—’

  ‘Sif isn’t in the piggery,’ protested Heimdall, glancing uneasily at the lawman.

  ‘Well, maybe that’s because she has Thor to protect her. I’m completely alone in the world …’ She blotted her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘I have no one at all to care for me—’

  ‘Stop that,’ said Heimdall quickly, seeing the glazed, adoring look return to the eyes of the possemen. He strode up to Freyja and led her to the far side of the room. ‘We were trying to stay inconspicuous!’ he hissed into the goddess’s ear. ‘And so far, the god of war is in gaol, as is the hammer Mjølnir. Skadi and Njörd are locked up in the barn along with what the innkeeper amusingly refers to as “our livestock”. So much for our so-called allies. All I need now is for the Witch of Ironwood to make an appearance and …’ He paused to take another breath and, just at that moment, saw Angrboda coming down the stairs, discreetly attired in thigh-high boots and a corset of fur and dragon-scale, and gave an audible moan of despair.

  ‘Why me? Why me?’

  Fred Law gave him a guarded look. ‘I wonder if you could spare a few moments, sir? But before you move on, I still need to know your business and your plans—’

  Just saving the Worlds, Heimdall thought. If only everything were so easy.

  In the good old days of the Elder Age, he would simply have used a cantrip or two to charm the man into doing his will. Even now, he knew that between them the gods had more than enough glam to defeat a posse of the Folk. On the other hand, could they really afford to alert every lawman this side of the Hindarfell to their presence? Could they fight the Folk all the way to World’s End? And how much time (and glam) would that cost?

  He managed to summon a strained smile and levelled it at the lawman. ‘Of course,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘I’ll be more than happy to answer all your questions. But first, let me buy you all breakfast–’ he grimaced at Angrboda – ‘while I – ah – consult with my – colleague here-’

  ‘Trouble?’ said Angie in a low voice as Heimdall came towards her.

  ‘We’ve come eighteen miles. Eighteen miles!’ moaned the Watchman in desperation. ‘How will we ever reach World’s End? We set off thirty-six hours ago, and we’re barely out of the valley!’

  Angie shrugged. ‘You need Loki.’

  Heimdall, who had harboured just the same thought, now gave a howl of frustration. ‘No!’

  ‘I don’t think you have the choice,’ said Angie. ‘Unless you can think of a plausible tale to explain all this to the lawman.’

  Heimdall gave Angie a hard stare. ‘Given that you and your wolf brood are somewhat to blame for all this, as you call it …’

  Angie bristled indignantly. She was easy-going most of the time, but any attack on her children and she reverted back to her Ironwood Aspect: cold and dark and deadly. ‘Don’t bring Fenris into this,’ she said in a low and dangerous voice.

  ‘Why not?’ said Heimdall. ‘You did.’

  ‘That’s because we need him,’ she said. ‘Fenris, and the Wolf Boys.’

  ‘Need them for what?’ yelled Heimdall. ‘All they’ve done so far is eat and get us into trouble! And now you’re suggesting Loki – Loki, whose middle name is Trouble – as the best way to solve all our problems?’

  The Seeress, who had observed the scene from the doorway of the larger dining room, looked at Heimdall with sympathy. ‘Maybe Angie’s right,’ she said. ‘Maybe we do need Loki.’

  ‘But we have no idea where he is …’ Heimdall began plaintively.

  ‘Well, funny you should say that,’ she said. ‘In fact, I know just where to find him.’

  ‘Where?’ said Heimdall, his eyes brightening.

  ‘He’s in a cave by the Sleepers,’ she said. ‘And I think that by now he’ll be more than happy to cooperate.’

  Heimdall took a moment to think. ‘But if you knew where he was all this time—’

  ‘I wanted him alive,’ Ethel said. ‘The way you were talking yesterday, you’d have lynched him before he could open his mouth.’

  Heimdall began to protest at this, then decided against it. ‘So – you really think we can trust him?’ he said.

  ‘Trust him? Of course not.’ Ethel smiled. ‘This is Loki we’re talking about. He’s a liar, a coward, a cheat, and very probably a traitor too. But faced with a situation like this, who would Odin have asked for?’

  Heimdall snorted. ‘Odin’s not here.’

  ‘All the more reason to do as I say.’

  Which was why, a few minutes later, a falcon might have been seen winging its way from the Hindarfell, its signature a roaring blue across the hazy winter dawn. It settled some thirty minutes later on a big rock outside a cave that Ethel had described to Heimdall.

  Loki, sensing its approach, felt a surge of desperate hope. He knew what such a visit meant. Either the gods wanted him dead, or else they had a job for him. He looked into Sigyn’s adoring face (she was at his feet, playing the harp), and tried to suppress a shudder. Either option, he told himself, would come as a deliverance.

  ‘DON’T YOU DARE say a single word,’ snarled the Watchman as he entered the cave. He’d had time to practise this scene in his head as he flew down from the Hindarfell, and he hadn’t been looking forward to it. It always rankled to ask Loki for help – and to come to him now like a penitent, clad only in gooseflesh, was beyond humiliating. Heimdall had already promised himself that if Loki cracked a single joke – Hel’s teeth, if he cracked so much as a smile – he’d break both his arms and worry about the consequences later.

  Loki read the signs, of course, and carefully assumed a neutral expression. A small, polite gesture to Sigyn earned Heimdall a suit of clothes – yes, they were ephemeral, like all Sigyn’s glamours, and thus did little to keep out the cold, but at least the Watchman’s dignity was safeguarded, and it was therefore with slightly less belligerence that he addressed the Trickster thus:

  ‘Now pay attention, Dogstar. I’ve come to offer you a deal.’ He then went on to explain in full the situation at the Moon and Stars, all the while observing Loki for any sign of inappropriate humour.

  ‘So basically,’ Loki said, still wisely keeping a straight face, ‘you’re saying that you need me.’

  ‘Rrrr,’ said Heimdall between his teeth.

  ‘I’m a liar and a traitor and I deserve to die, but’ – Loki’s scarred lips twitched irrepressibly – ‘all the same – you need me.’

  Heimdall started to calculate exactly how many of Loki’s bones he could afford to break before he lost his value. Loki saw him working it out and resisted the further temptation to gloat. ‘All right. Count me i
n,’ he said. ‘I mean, anything for the family. There’s just one little thing …’ He grinned. ‘If I’m going to help you all get to World’s End in time, then I’ll need something in return.’

  ‘I’m not here to bargain,’ Heimdall said. ‘We’re giving you your freedom back, which is already more than you deserve.’

  ‘Of course.’ Loki’s grin widened. ‘I’m just saying that I may need some support, maybe even protection, if my plan to save the day doesn’t happen to meet with the full approval of the gods.’

  Heimdall frowned. ‘So … you’ve got a plan?’

  ‘I always have a plan.’ Loki grinned even more widely. ‘Listen, I’m not asking for much. But you know how things are with me and the gods. Some might be – shall we say resistant? – to any idea coming from me.’

  ‘What’s the plan?’ Heimdall said.

  ‘Oh no,’ said the Trickster. ‘That is not the way it works. You want my help? Take me with you. Make the others do as I say. I promise, if you do that, I’ll get you all to World’s End by dawn on the seventh day.’

  ‘Impossible!’ Heimdall said. ‘The journey takes a fortnight.’

  ‘Trust me, it won’t. You have my word. As long as you swear to do as I say.’

  Heimdall narrowed his eyes at Loki, now the picture of innocence.

  ‘I’m asking for less than a week,’ said Loki. ‘After which you’ll be free to take whatever retribution you deem appropriate – assuming I haven’t kept my word.’

  There was a long pause, during which Heimdall went over in his mind all the previous instances in which the gods had been obliged to go along – albeit most reluctantly – with one or another of Loki’s plans. There had been many; but in each case, even Heimdall had to admit, the Trickster always found a way.

  ‘You’re really that good?’ he said at last.

  Loki shrugged. ‘I’m Loki.’

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, the falcon had been joined by a companion – a small, fast-moving brown hawk with a gold ring around its foot from which a fine chain dangled. That was Eh, the Wedlock, with Sigyn’s presence now inhabiting a small gold acorn-shaped charm at the end of the little chain. Both Loki and Heimdall had tried in vain to persuade her to sever the runecharm and stay where she was; but Sigyn was unshakeable. World’s End was a dangerous place. Anything could happen there. What if Loki got into trouble? What if he was injured?