«No, Slayer of Giants,» said Loki. «Hold your hand. He furnishes us something to laugh at, which is always good in this melancholy country. I may be able to use him where we are going.»
Thor slowly lowered his arm. «Yours be the responsibility. I am not unfriendly to the children of men; but for liars I have no sympathy. What I say I can do, and that will I do.»
Thjalfi spoke. «If ye please, sir, there’s a dark something up yonder.» He pointed toward the head of the valley. «Maybe we can find shelter.»
Thor growled an assent; they got back into the chariot and drove up towards the dark mass. Shea was silent, with the blackest of thoughts. He would leave his position as researcher at the Garaden Institute to go after adventure with a capital A, would he? And as an escape from a position where he felt himself inferior and inclosed. Well, he told himself bitterly, he had landed in another still more inclosed and inferior. Yet why was it his preparations had so utterly failed? There was no reason for the matches’ not lighting or the book’s turning into gibberish — or for that matter the failure of the flashlight on the night before.
Thjalfi was whispering to him. «By the beard of Odinn, I’m ashamed of you, friend Harald. Why did ye promise a fire if you couldn’t make it?»
«I thought I could, honest,» said Shea morosely.
«Well, maybe so. Ye certainly rubbed the Thunderer the wrong way. Ye’d best be grateful to Uncle Fox. He saved your life for you. He ain’t as bad as some people think, I always say. Usually helps you out in a real pinch.»
The dark something grew into the form of an oddly shaped house. The top was rounded, the near end completely open. When they went in Shea found to his surprise that the floor was of some linoleumlike material, as were the curving walls and low-arched roof. There seemed only a single, broad low room, without furniture or lights. At the far end they could dimly make out fire hallways, circular in cross section, leading they knew not where. Nobody cared to explore.
Thjaifi and Shea dragged down the heavy chest and fished out blankets. For supper the four glumly chewed pieces of smoked salmon. Thor’s eyebrows worked in a manner that showed he was trying to control justifiable anger.
Finally Loki said: «It is in my mind that our fireless warlock has not heard the story of your fishing, son of Jörd.»
«Oh,» said Thor, «that story is not unknown. But it is good that men should hear it and learn from it. Let me think—»
«Odinn preserve us!» murmured Thjalfi in Shea’s ear, «I’ve only heard this a million times.»
Thor rumbled: «I was guesting with the giant Hymir. We rowed far out in the blue sea. I baited my hook with a whole ox-head, for the fish I fish are worthy a man’s strength. At the first strike I knew I had the greatest fish of alclass="underline" to wit, the Midgard Serpent, for his strength was so great. Three whales could not have pulled so hard. For nine hours I played the serpent, thrashing to and fro, before I pulled him in. When his head came over the gunwale, he sprayed venom in futile wrath; it ate holes in my clothes. His eyes were as great as shields, and his teeth that long.» Thor held up his hands in the gloom to show the length of the teeth. «I pulled and the serpent pulled again. I was braced with my belt of strength; my feet nearly went through the bottom of the boat.»
«I had all but landed the monster, when — I speak no untruth — that fool Hymir got scared and cut the line. The biggest thing any fisherman ever caught, and it escaped!» He finished on a mournful note; «I gave Hymir a thumping he will not soon forget. But it did not give me the trophy I wanted to hang on the walls of Thrudvang!»
Thjalfi leaned toward Shea, singing in his ear:
«A man shall not boast Of the fish that fled
Or the bear he failed to flay;
Bigger they be Than those borne back
To hang their heads in the hall.
At least that’s what Atli’s Drapar says.»
Loki chuckled; he had caught the words. «True, youngling. Had any but our friend and great protector told such a tale, I would doubt it.»
«Doubt me?» rumbled Thor. «How would you like one of my buffets?» He drew hack his arm. Loki ducked. Thor uttered a huge good-natured laugh. «Two things gods and mortals alike doubt — tales of fishing and the virtue of women.»
He lay back among the blankets, took two deep breaths and seemed to be snoring instantly. Loki and Thjalfi also lapsed into silence.
Shea, unable to sleep, let his mind go over the day’s doings. He had shown up pretty badly. It annoyed him, for he was beginning to like these people, even the unapproachable and tempestuous Thor. The big fellow was all right: someone you could depend on right up to the hilt, especially in any crisis that required straight-forward courage. He would see right and wrong divided by a line of absolute sharpness, chalk on one side, coal dust on the other. He became annoyed when others proved to lack his own simple strength.
* * *
About Loki, Shea was not quite so sure. Uncle Fox had saved his life all right, but Shea suspected that there had been a touch of self-interest about the act. Loki expected to make some use of him, and not entirely as a butt of jokes, either. That keen mind had doubtless noted the unfamiliar gear Shea had brought from the twentieth century and was speculating on its use.
But why had those gadgets failed to work? Why had he been unable to read simple English print?
Was it English? Shea tried to visualize his name in written form. It was easy enough, and showed him that the transference had not made him illiterate. But wait a minute, what was he visualizing? He concentrated on the row of letters in his mind’s eye. What he saw was:
These letters spelled Harold Bryan Shea to him. At the same time he realized they weren’t the letters of the Latin alphabet. He tried some more visualizations. «Man» came out as:
Something was wrong. «Man,» he vaguely remembered, ought not to have four letters.
Then, gradually, he realized what had happened. Chalmers had been right and more than right. His mind had been filled with the fundamental assumptions of this new world. When he transferred from his safe, Midwestern institute to this howling wilderness, he bad automatically changed languages. If it were otherwise, if the shift were partial, he would be a dement — insane. But the shift was complete. He was speaking and understanding old Norse, touching old Norse gods and eating old Norse food. No wonder he had had no difficulty making himself understood.
But as an inevitable corollary, his knowledge of English had vanished When he thought of the written form of «man» he could form no concept but that of the four runic characters:
He couldn’t even imagine what the word would look like with the runes put into other characters. And he had failed to read his Boy Scout Handbook.
Naturally his gadgets had failed to work. He was in a world not governed by the laws of twentieth-century physics or chemistry. It had a mental pattern which left no room for matches or flashlights, or non-rusting steel. These things were simply inconceivable to anyone around him. Therefore they did not exist save as curiously shaped objects of no value.
Well, anyway, he thought to himself drowsily, at least I won’t have to worry about the figure I cut in front of these guys again. I’ve fallen so low that nothing I could do would make me a bigger fool. Oh, what the hell —
FIVE
Shea awoke before dawn, shivering. The temperature was still above freezing, but a wind had come up, and the grey landscape was curtained with driving rain. He yawned and sat up with his blanket round him like an Indian. The others were still asleep and he stared out for a moment, trying to recover the thread of last night’s thoughts.