Shea had been fighting his stomach in desperate dread of losing further prestige. But the word «eat» ended the battle. He leaned far over the side of the chariot.
Loki laughed. Thor turned at the sound, and drowned Loki’s laughter in a roar of his own. «Haw, haw, haw! If you foul up my chariot, Turnip Harald, I’ll make you clean it.» There was a kind of good-natured contempt in the tone, more galling than Uncle Fox’s amusement.
Shea’s stomach finally ceased its convulsions and he sat down on the chest wishing he were dead, Perhaps it was the discomfort of the seat, but he soon stood up again, forcing himself to grin. «I’ll be all right now. I’m just not used to such a pace.»
Thor turned his bead again and rumbled. «You think this fast, springling? You have in no wise any experience of speed. Watch.» He whistled to the goats, who stretched their heads forward and really opened out. The chariot seemed to spend most of the time in the air; at intervals, it would hit a ridge in the road with a thunderous bang and then take off again. Shea clung for dear life to the side, estimating their speed at something between sixty and seventy miles an hour. This is not much in a modern automobile on a concrete road, but something quite different in a two-wheeled springless cart on a rutted track.
«Wow! Wow! Wow!» yelled Thor, carried away by his awn enjoyment. «Hang on; here’s a curve!» Instead of slackening speed the goats fairly leaped, banking inward on the turn. The chariot lurched in the opposite direction. Shea clung with eyes closed and one arm over the side. «Yoooeee!» bellowed Thor.
It went on for ten minutes more before Thjalfi suggested lunch. Shea found himself actually hungry again. But his appetite quailed at the sight of some slabs that looked Like scorched leather.
«Ulp — what’s that?»
«Smoked salmon,» said Thjalfi. «Ye put one end in your mouth, like this. Then ye bite. Then ye swallow. Ye have sense enough to swallow, I suppose?»
Shea tried it. He was amazed that any fish could be so tough. But as he gnawed he became aware of a delicious flavour. When I get back, he thought, I must look up sonic of this stuff. Rather, if I get back.
The temperature rose during the afternoon, and toward evening the wheels were throwing out fans of slush. Thor roared «Whoa!» and the goats stopped. They were in a hollow between low hills, grey save where the snow had melted to show dark patches of grass. In the hollow itself a few discouraged-looking spruces showed black in the twilight.
«Here we camp,» said Thor. «Goat steak would be our feasting had we but fire.»
«What does he mean?» Shea whispered to Thjalfi.
«It’s one of the Thunderer’s magic tricks. He slaughters Tooth Gnasher or Tooth Gritter and we can eat all but the hide and bones. He magics them back to life.»
Loki was saying to Thor «Uncertain is it, Enemy of the Worm, whether my fire spell will be effective here. In this hill-giant land there are spells against spells. Your lightning flash?»
«It can shiver and slay but not kindle in this damp,» growled Thor. «You have a new warlock there. Why not make him work?»
Shea had been feeling for his matches. They were there and dry. This was his chance. «That’ll be easy,» he said lightly. «I can make your fire as easy as snapping my fingers. Honest.»
Thor glared at him with suspicion «Few are the weaklings equal to any works,» he said heavily. «For my part I always hold that strength and courage are the first requirements of a man. But I will not gainsay that occasionally my brothers feel otherwise, and it may be that you can do as you say.»
«There is also cleverness, Wielder of Mjollnir,» said Loki. «Even your hammer blows would be worthless if you did not know where to strike; and it may be that this outlander can show us some new thing. Now I propose a contest, we two and the warlock. The first of us to make the fire light shall have a blow at either of the others.»
«Hey!» said Shea. «If Thor takes a swat at me, you’ll have to get a new warlock.»
«That will not be difficult.» Loki grinned and rubbed his hands together. Though Shea decided the sly god would find something funny about his mother’s funeral, for once he was not caught. He grinned back, and thought he detected a flicker of approval in Uncle Fox’s eyes.
Shea and Thjalfi tramped through the slush to the clump of spruces. As he pulled our his supposedly rust-proof knife, Shea was dismayed to observe that the blade had developed a number of dull-red freckles. He worked manfully hacking down a number of trees and branches. They were piled on a spot from which the snow had disappeared, although the ground was still sopping.
«Who’s going to try first?» asked Shea.
«Don’t be more foolish than ye have to,» murmured Thjalfi. «Redbeard, of course.»
Thor walked up to the pile of brush and extended his hands. There was a blue glow of corona discharge around them, and a piercing crack as bright electric sparks leaped from his fingertips to the wood. The brush stirred a little and a few puffs of water vapour rose from it. Thor frowned in concentration. Again the sparks crackled, but no fire resulted.
«Too damp is the wood,» growled Thor. «Now you shall make the attempt, Sly One.»
Loki extended his hands and muttered something too low for Shea to hear. A rosy-violet glow shone from his hands and danced among the brush. In the twilight the strange illumination lit up Loki’s sandy red goatee, high cheekbones, and slanting brows with startling effect. His lips moved almost silently. The spruce steamed gently, but did not tight.
Loki stepped back. The magenta glow died out. «A night’s work,» said he. «Let us see what our warlock can do.»
* * *
Shea had been assembling a few small twigs, rubbing them to dryness on his clothes and arranging them like an Indian tepee. They were still dampish, but he supposed spruce would contain enough resin to light.
«Now,» he said with a trace of swagger. «Let everybody watch. This is strong magic.»
He felt around in the little container that held his matches until he found some of the nonsafety kitchen type. His three companions held their breaths as he took out a match and struck it against the box.
Nothing happened.
He tried again. Still no result. He threw the match away and essayed another, again without success. He tried another, and another, and another. He tried two at once. He put away the kitchen matches and got out a box of safety matches. The result was no better. There was no visible reason. The matches simply would not light.
He stood up. «I’m sorry,» he said, «but something has gone wrong. If you’ll just wait a minute, I’ll look it up in my book of magic formulas.»
There was just enough light left to read by. Shea got out his Boy Scout Manual. Surely it would tell him what to do — if not with failing matches, at least it would instruct him in the art of rubbing sticks.
He opened it at random and peered, blinked his eyes, shook his head, and peered again. The light was good enough. But the black marks on the page, which presumably were printed sentences, were utterly meaningless. A few letters looked vaguely familiar, but he could make nothing of the words. He leafed rapidly through the book; it was the same senseless jumble of hen tracks everywhere. Even the few diagrams meant nothing without the text.
Harold Shea stood with his mouth open and not the faintest idea of what to do next. «Well,» rumbled Thor, «where is our warlock fire?»
In the background Loki tittered. «He perhaps prefers to eat his turnips uncooked.»
«I. I’m sorry, sir,» babbled Shea. «I’m afraid it won’t work.»
Thor lifted his massive fist. «It is time,» he said, «to put an end to this lying and feeble child of man who raises our hopes and then condemns us to a dinner of cold salmon.»