«I’ll do it,» said Shea aloud. Then he realized that his impulsiveness had let him in for something. If Loki and Thor were not sure they could recover the hammer without help, it was likely to be an enterprise of some difficulty. Still, neither Æsir nor giants knew about matches — or the revolver. They would do for magic till something better came along.
«I’ve already spoken to the Lord of the Goat Chariot,» Thjalfi was saying. «He’d be glad to have ye come, but he says ye mustn’t disgrace him by asking to eat turnips. Ye’d best do something about those clothes. They’re more than light for this climate. Sverre-bonder will lend you some others.»
Sverre was glad to take the inadequate polo coat and riding breeches as security for the loan of some baggy Norse garments. Shea, newly dressed in accordance with his surroundings, went outside. A low, cheerless sun shone on the blinding white of new snow. As the biting cold nipped his nose Shea was thankful for the yards of coarse wool in which he was swathed.
The goat chariot was waiting. It was as big as a Conestoga wagon, notwithstanding that there were only two wheels. A line of incised runic letters was etched in black around the gold rim; the body was boldly painted red and gold. But the goats constituted the most remarkable feature. One was black, the other white, and they were as big as horses.
«This here’s Tooth Gnasher,» said Thjalfi, indicating the nigh goat, «and that there’s Tooth Gritter,» waving at the off goat, the black one. «Say, friend Harald, I’d be mighty obliged if ye’d help me tote the stuff out.»
Shea, ignorant of what the «stuff» was, followed Thjalfi into the bonder’s house, where the latter pointed to a big oak chest. This, he explained, held the Æsir’s belongings. Thjalfi hoisted one end by its bronze handle. Shea took hold of the other, expecting it to come up easily. The chest did not move. He looked at Thjalfi, but the latter merely stood, holding his end off the floor without apparent effort. So Shea took his handle in both hands and gave a mighty heave. He got his end up, but the thing seemed packed with ingots of lead. The pair went through the door, Thjalfi leading, Shea staggering and straining along in the rear. He almost yelled to Thjalfi to hurry and ease the horrible strain on his arms, but this would involve so much loss of face that he stuck it out. When they reached the chariot Shea dropped his end into the snow and almost collapsed across the chest. The icy air hurt his lungs as he drew great gasps of breath.
«All right,» said Thialfi calmly, «you catch hold here, and we’ll shove her aboard.» Shea forced his unwilling body to obey. They manhandled one end of the chest onto the tail of the chariot and somehow got the whole thing aboard. Shea was uncomfortably aware that Thjalfi had done three-quarters of the work, but the rustic seemed not to notice.
With the load in, Shea leaned against one of the shafts, waiting for his heart to slow down and for the aches in his arms and chest to subside. «Now it is to be seen,» said a voice, «that Thjalfi has persuaded another mortal to share his labours. Convenient is this for Thjalfi.»
It was the foxy-faced Loki, with the usual note of mockery in his voice. Once more Shea’s temper began to rise. Thjalfi was all right — but it did look as though he had talked Shea into coming along for the dirty work. If — Whoa! Shea suddenly remembered Loki’s title — «Bringer of Discord,» and Thjajfi’s warning about his jokes. Uncle Fox would doubtless think it very funny to get the two mortals into a quarrel, and for the sake of his own credit he didn’t dare let the god succeed.
Just then came a tug at his cloak. He whirled round; Tooth Gritter had seized the lower edge of the garment in his teeth and was trying to drag it off him. «Hey!» cried Shea, and dragged back. The giant goat shook its head and held on while Loki stood with hands on hips, laughing a deep, rich belly-laugh. He made not the slightest move to help Shea. Thjalfi came running round and added his strength to Shea’s. The cloak came loose with a rip; the two mortals tumbled backward. Tooth Gritter calmly munched the fragment he had torn from the cloak and swallowed it.
Shea got up scowling and faced a Loki purple with amusement. «Say, you,» he began belligerently, «what the hell’s so damn funny —» At that instant Thjalfi seized him from behind and whirled him away as though he were a child. «Shut up, ye nitwit!» he flung into Shea’s ear. «Don’t ye know he could burn ye to a cinder just by looking at ye?»
«But —»
«But nothing! Them’s gods! No matter what they do ye dassn’t say boo, or they’ll do something worse. That’s how things be!»
«Okay,» grumbled Shea, reflecting that rustics the world over were a little too ready to accept «that’s how things be,» and that when the opportunity came he would get back some of his own from Loki.
«Ye want to be careful around them goats,» continued Thjalfi. «They’re mean, and they eat most anything. I remember a funny thing as happened a fortnight hack. We found five men that had frozen to death on the moor. I says we ought to take them in so their folks could give ’ em burial. Thor says all right, take ’ em in. When we got to the house we was going to stay at, the bonder didn’t see as how there was any point in bringing ’em inside, ’cause when they got thawed out, they’d get kind of strong. So we stacked ’em in the yard, like firewood. Next morning, would ye believe it, those goats had gotten at ’em and et ’ em up. Everything but their buckles!» Thjalfi chuckled to himself.
As Shea was digesting this example of Norse humour, there came a shout of «Come on, mortals!» from Thor, who had climbed into the chariot. He clucked to the goats, who leaned forward. The chariot wheels screeched and turned.
«Hurry!» cried Thjalfi and ran for the chariot. He had reached it and jumped aboard with a single huge bound before Shea even started. The latter ran behind the now rapidly moving vehicle and tried to hoist himself up, His fingers, again numbed with cold, slipped, and he went sprawling on his face in the snow. He heard Loki’s infuriating laugh. As he pulled himself to his feet he remembered bitterly that he had made this «journey» to escape the feeling of insignificance and maladjustment that his former life had given him.
There was nothing to do but run after the chariot again. Thjalfi pulled him over the tail and slapped the snow from his clothes. «Next time,» he advised, «ye better get a good grip before ye try to jump. Ye know what it says in Hбvamбclass="underline"
It is better to live Than to Lie a corpse;
The quick man catches the cart.»
Thor, at the front of the chariot, said something to the goats. They broke from a trot to a gallop. Shea, clutching the side of the vehicle, became aware that it had no springs. He found he could take the jolting best by flexing his legs and yielding to the jerks.
Loki leaned towards him, grinning. «Hai, Turnip Harald! Let us be merry!» Shea smiled uncertainly. Manner and voice were friendly, but might conceal some new malicious trick. Uncle Fox contained airily: «Be merry while you can. These hill giants are uncertain of humour where we go. He, he, I remember a warlock named Birger. He put a spell on one of the hill giants so he married a goat instead of a girl. The giant cut Birger open, tied one end of his entrails to a tree, and chased him around it. He, he!»
The anecdote was not appetizing and the chariot was bounding on at the same furious pace, throwing its passengers into the air every time it hit a bump. Up — down — bang — up — down — bang. Shea began to regret his breakfast.
Thjalfi said; «Ye look poorly, friend Harald; sort of goose-green. Shall I get something to eat?»