With that, he resumed his seat. The banqueting hall was quiet for several moments.
"Well, that's chirped everyone up, hasn't it?" I murmured to Cy, who gave a silent laugh.
Then, just as conversation was juddering back into life, a man at the very end of the top table got to his feet.
"That's Bragi," Ling whispered to me across Cy. "Another of Odin's illegitimate sons. The poet."
"Is he going to —?"
"Afraid so. He's actually not that bad."
Bragi cleared his throat, stroked his long, lank ZZ Top beard, and said, "An ode."
There were groans.
"A short one."
There were cheers.
"It's brand new. I call it The Besting of Thor."
Louder cheers, and a number of gazes turned my way. I had a bad feeling I knew what was coming.
In a voice that resounded to the rafters, Bragi began his recitaclass="underline"
For all his strength and all his thunder,
Our big, brash Thor had made a blunder.
He'd challenged Gid, a perfect stranger,
To brawl with him. To most, a danger;
For Thor in combat was undefeated.
This, though, had left him quite conceited.
What's more, his foe, whilst seeming game,
Was injured, ailing, wounded, lame.
An easy win, one might foresee
For Thor, but this was not to be.
Swifter than rainwater falls
Gid did strike him in the… place where it hurts.
There was laughter at that.
Then a head blow fast did follow,
Striking Thor where he's most hollow.
And more laughter, louder.
Cries of shock! Gasps of wonder!
Down he went, the god of thunder.
Who'd have thought, who could know,
He would end up eating snow?
Not for long — but long enough -
We saw that Thor was not so tough.
Then up he rose with raucous shout.
The outcome now was ne'er in doubt.
Thor was mad. He flipped his lid,
And started beating up poor Gid.
The man was lost, and suffered sore
'Neath the pounding fists of Thor.
He needed help. Who'd save his skin?
Vanir Freya then stepped in.
She stopped the fight and stayed her cousin
From hitting Gid another dozen…
…times.
"This isn't as easy as it looks," Bragi excused himself.
Still, now we know vain cocksure Thor
Has less to boast of than before.
The lesson taught us by this rumble?
Even gods should be more humble.
"Ye rulers of the earth and sky,
Look up, not down, when man walks by."
He sat down to a roar of applause. Odin seemed amused, while Thor — undecided. He scowled at Bragi, and then across the room at me, then finally, reluctantly allowed himself a wavery smile.
Tankards were raised my way. People leaned over to give me a slap on the back. I just kept my head down and tried to ignore it all. I didn't want to be anybody's hero or the centre of attention.
In the end the fuss died down, and I saw an opportunity to leave. Mumbling something about needing to siphon the python, I made for the exit.
Thirteen
I'd binged a bit on the mead. Gone over my self-imposed four unit limit. Fresh air was in order.
But Christ, it was cold fresh air. The moment I hit the outdoors, the outdoors hit back. My first in-breath, I could feel my throat start to ice up. My teeth ached. My eyes smarted and the tears immediately started to crystallise.
All of which helped sober me up in no time flat.
The sky was amazing. Clear, which explained the shockingly low temperature, and masses of stars. So many stars, they seemed to crowd out the blackness — more light than dark up there. The snowy ground glowed in their brilliance and the gibbous moon's.
Across the way stood Yggdrasil, casting a huge silver shadow. I tramped over to it, curious to see if it would do that weird growing thing again, that optical illusion or whatever it was. Apprehensive, too. But the tree remained a tree, even when I got right up close to it. A fucking huge tree, yes, but still acceptably sized. Not skyscraper big, as it had become that other time. Believably big.
My reason for leaving the banquet — needing a slash — hadn't been completely an excuse. I unzipped and took a long, hard piss against one of Yggdrasil's mighty roots. Ah, relief! Steam rose in clouds. It was one of those wees that went on and on, that made you marvel at the capacity of the human bladder. I started to get bored, in fact. I half-closed my eyes. Come on, finish already. I felt like I was draining the contents of a watermelon.
A noise right in front of me snapped me out of my piss trance. On a low-hanging branch, just inches from my nose, there was a red squirrel, and it was chittering at me, angrily. Its brush of a tail kept flicking and twitching back and forth, and its little black pushpin eyes flashed. It was having a right old go, yammering and squeaking, the whole branch vibrating with the intensity of its movements. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought I was being told off for widdling on Yggdrasil.
I tucked away and zipped up, chuckling at the squirrel, which only seemed to agitate it more.
"Calm down, you fluffy-tailed rat," I said. "You'll give yourself a stroke."
"Ratatosk is offended," said a voice in my ear.
I swung round, bringing a clenched fist up. Pure reflex.
Big mistake.
Next instant, I was flat on my back in the snow. I'd barely felt it. A hand grabbing my shoulder, a foot hooked behind my knee, and bam! Gid Coxall laid out like a frog on a dissecting slab.
To make matters worse, a sheath knife was being held at my throat, tip poised over my Adam's apple.
To make matters very slightly better, the person on the other end of the knife was Freya. The lovely Freya.
Only, the expression on her face was not lovely at all. Her features were fixed in a sneer of contempt. Not even a hint of friendliness there.
"No one raises a fist to me and gets away with it," she said. "Especially not a man."
I wasn't sure if she meant man as in male of the species or man as in mortal being, and I wasn't about to query the point. It could have been either and was probably both.
"Didn't mean to," I croaked. "You surprised me. I reacted. Overreacted. Don't slit my throat."
The sheath knife didn't move. Somewhere overhead I could hear the squirrel tittering scornfully. There was no other way to describe it. If squirrels could mock, this was exactly the sound they'd make.