«The coldest in the nine worlds,» said Heimdall. «Now you shall pass me up the great sword, that I may light our way with it.»
Shea did so. Ahead, all he could see over Heimdall’s shoulder now was blackness, as though the walls of the gorge had shut them in above. Shea put out one hand as they scraped one wall of the chasm, then jerked it back. The cold of the rock bit through his mitten into his fingers like fire.
Gold Top’s ears pricked forward in the light from the sword. They rounded a corner, and came suddenly on a spark of life in that gloomy place, lit by an eerie blue-green phosphorescence. Shea could make out in that half-light the tall, slouch-hatted figure of the Wanderer, and his pony beside him. There was a third figure, cloaked and hooded in black, its face invisible.
Odinn looked towards them as they approached. «Hai, Muginn brought me tidings of your captivity and your escape. The second was the better news,» said the sonorous voice.
Heimdall and Shea dismounted. The Wanderer looked sharply at Shea. «Are you not that lost one I met near the crossroads?» he asked.
«It is none other,» put in Heimdall, «and a warlock of power he is, as well as the briskest man with sword that ever I saw. He is to be of my band. We have Hundingsbana and Head. Have you won that for which you came?»
«Enough, or near enough. Myself and Vidarr are to stand before the Sons of the Wolf, those dreadful monsters. Thor shall fight the Worm; Frey, Surt. Ullr and his men are to match the hill giants and you the frost giants, as already I knew.»
«Allfather, you are needed. The dog Garm is loose and Surt is bearing the flaming sword from the south with the frost giants at his back. The Time is here.»
«Aieeee!» screeched the black-shrouded figure. «I know ye now, Odinn! Woe the day that my tongue —»
«Silence, hag!» The deep voice seemed to fill that desolate place with thunder. «Blow, son of mine, then. Rouse our bands, for it is Time.»
«Aieeee!» screeched the figure again. «Begone, accursed ones, to whatever place from whence ye came!» A hand shot out, and Shea noticed with a prickling of the scalp that it was fleshless. The hand seized a sprinkle of snow and threw it at Odinn. He laughed.
«Begone!» shrieked the spae-wife, throwing another handful of snow, this time at Heimdall. His only reply was to set the great horn to his lips and take a deep breath.
«Begone, I say!» she screamed again. Shea had a bloodcurdling glimpse of a skull under the hood as she scooped up the third handful of snow. «To whatever misbegotten place ye came from!» The first notes of the roaring trumpet sang and swelled and filled all space in a tremendous peal of martial, triumphant music. The rocks shook, and the icicles cracked, and Harold Shea saw the third handful of snow, a harmless little damp clot, flying at him from Grua’s bony fingers.
* * *
«Well,» said the detective, «I’m sorry you can’t help me out no more than that, Dr. Chalmers. We gotta notify his folks in St. Louis. We get these missing-person cases now and then, but we usually find ’em. You’ll get his things together, will you?»
«Certainly, certainly,» said Reed Chalmers. «I thought I’d go over the papers now.»
«Okay. Thanks. Miss Mugler, I’ll send you a report with my bill.»
«But,» said Gertrude Mugler, «I don’t want a report! I want Mr. Shea!»
The detective grinned. «You paid for a report, whether you want it or not. You can throw it away. So long. ’By, Dr. Chalmers. ’By, Mr. Bayard. Be seein’ you.» The door of the room closed.
Walter Bayard, lounging in Harold Shea’s one good armchair asked: «Why didn’t you tell him what you think really happened?»
Chalmers replied: «Because it would be — shall I say — somewhat difficult to prove. I do not propose to make myself a subject of public ridicule.»
Gertrude said: «That wasn’t honest of you, Doctor. Even if you won’t tell me, you might at least —»
Bayard wiggled an eyebrow at the worried girl. «Heh, heh. Who was indignantly denying that Harold might have run away from her maternal envelopment, when the detective asked her just now?»
Gertrude snapped: «In the first place it wasn’t so, and in the second it was none of his damn business, and in the third I think you two might at least cooperate instead of obstructing, especially since I’m paying for Mr. Johnson’s services!»
«My dear Gertrude,» said Chalmers, if I thought it had the slightest chance of doing any good, I should certainly acquaint your Mr. Johnson with my hypothesis. But I assure you that he would decline to credit it, and even if he did, the theory would present no — uh — point of application for his investigatory methods.»
«Something in that, Gert,» said Bayard. «You can prove the thing in one direction, but not the reverse. If Shea can’t get back from where we think he’s gone, it’s a cinch that Johnson couldn’t. So why send Johnson after him?» He sighed. «It’ll be a little queer without Harold, for all his —»
Wham! The outward rush of displaced air bowled Chalmers over, whipped a picture from the wall with a crash of glass, and sent the pile of Shea’s papers flying. There may have been minor damage as well.
If there was, neither Gertrude nor Chalmers nor Bayard noticed it. In the middle of the room stood the subject of their talk, swathed in countless yards of blanket-like woollen garments. His face was tanned and slightly chapped. In his left hand he held a clumsy broom of willow twigs.
«Hiya,» said Shea, grinning at their expressions. «You three had dinner yet? Yeah? Well, you can come along and watch me eat.» He tossed the broom in a corner. «Souvenir to go with my story. Useful while it lasted, but I’m afraid it won’t work here.»
«B — but,» stammered Chalmers, «you aren’t going out to a restaurant in those garments?»
«Hell, yes? I’m hungry.»
«What will people think?»
«What do I care?»
«God bless my soul,» exclaimed Chalmers, and followed Shea out.
BOOK TWO — THE MATHEMATICS OF MAGIC
ONE
«Steak,» said Harold Shea.
«Porterhouse, sirloin —?» asked the waitress.
«Both, so long as they’re big and rare.»
«Harold,» said Gertrude Mugler, «whatever this is all about, please be careful of your diet. A large protein intake for a man who doesn’t do physical labour —»
«Physical labour!» barked Shea. «The last meal I had was twenty-four hours ago, and it was a little dish of oatmeal mush. Sour, too. Since then I’ve fought a duel with a couple of giants, done acrobatics on a magic broomstick, had a ride on a god’s enchanted brewery-horse — Well, anyway, I’ve been roasted and frozen and shaken and nearly scared to death, and by Thor’s hammer I want food!»
«Harold, are you — are you feeling well?»
«Fine, toots. Or I will be when I surround some grub.» He turned to the waitress again: «Steak!»
«Listen, Harold,» persisted Gertrude. «Don’t! You pop out of nowhere in that crazy costume; you talk wildly about things you couldn’t expect anyone to believe —»
«You don’t have to believe I popped out of nowhere, either,» said Shea.
«Then can’t you tell me what’s wrong?»
«Nothing’s wrong, and I’m not going to talk about it until I’ve consulted Dr. Chalmers.»
«Well,» said Gertrude, «if that’s your attitude — come on, Walter, let’s go to a movie.»
«But,» bleated Walter Bayard, «I want to listen —»
«Oh, be a gentleman for once in your life!»
«Oh, all right, Gert.» He leered back at Shea as he went. «Anyway, you didn’t bring back any dream-girls.»