Whetstone stumbled out of the gate and back on to the main road. Hoping to put Vali and his weird family behind him, he took a few random turns leading down narrow twisting lanes. His mind was full of the conversation he had just overheard. Vali’s father wanted the cup. Whetstone bristled. He hadn’t gone to all the effort of stealing it just to have someone else take it. What about his Fortune and Glory? And what was all that rubbish about Whetstone knowing a riddle? He shook his head. He resolved to find Light Finger and get out of here – wherever here was – quickly.
The dull clunk and clatter of a loom being used came from somewhere nearby. Whetstone followed the sound around the corner and found a low open window. Sitting innocently on the window ledge was a delicious-looking loaf of bread. His mouth watered. Bread was normal, familiar. Bread would stop the churning in his stomach and make everything all right. He glanced over his shoulder – the street was empty. He reached out a hand …
‘HEY!’
Something whacked into Whetstone from behind, knocking him face first into the hard ground. Something with four massive paws and smelly breath.
‘Broken Tooth!’ he gasped, trying to push the wolf off and sit up. Hands reached down and pulled the dog away by its collar. Whetstone shoved his cloak out of his face to see a girl with brown skin and black hair wearing a very cross expression.
‘Who are you?’ He thought of the black hair left in the hairbrush and the pink cuddly dragon now covered in dog dribble. ‘Is Broken Tooth yours?’
‘Yes, now shhhh!’ The girl pulled him to his feet.
Whetstone found himself abruptly wrapped in thick fabric, a metal helmet hastily shoved on top. The lump on his head throbbed, making lights flash in front of his eyes. ‘What are you doing?’ he spluttered, trying to make a hole in the cloth to breathe through.
‘Getting you out of here … There was a mistake. You have to go.’ She grabbed his arm and propelled him away through the twisting lanes.
Whetstone tried to stop, but the girl was surprisingly strong for her size. He twisted around to duck out of the blanket she had thrown over him but ended up getting more tangled. Whetstone wobbled, felt himself overbalance, and landed heavily on his knees. The helmet fell to the floor with a clang. Broken Tooth started licking all the bits of him he could reach. The girl sighed and tried to pull Whetstone back up on his feet.
‘What’s going on?’ Whetstone sat stubbornly on the ground. ‘I’m not going anywhere till I get some answers.’
The girl stood over him, hands on hips. She looked like she wanted to kick him. Whetstone glared at her to show he meant business. The girl glared back, her black eyebrows knitting together like angry caterpillars. Eventually she sighed, her shoulders slumping. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear.
‘It’s a long story. Don’t freak out but – you’re in Asgard.’
Whetstone raised his eyebrows. ‘Yeah, right – I might have banged my head, but I’m not stupid.’
‘Idiot humans.’ The girl rolled her eyes. ‘Look around you – this is Asgard. You know, the place where the Gods live?’
‘And who are you?’ Whetstone asked, shrugging out of the blanket. ‘Brunhilda – Goddess of Pushing People Over?’
The girl gritted her teeth.
‘I guess that makes me Whetstone – God of Thieves.’ He snickered.
‘Whetstone?’ The girl snorted. ‘What sort of stupid name is that?’
‘Shut up.’ Whetstone crossed his arms. ‘You’re just annoyed I’m not falling for your silly “This is Asgard” game.’
The girl gawked at him. ‘I’m not playing a game,’ she said at last. ‘And my name isn’t Brunhilda. It’s Lotta. But I did quite enjoy pushing you over.’
‘Ha!’
‘Wait – you really ARE in Asgard, and I can prove it.’
Whetstone ignored her. ‘Whatever.’ He shoved Broken Tooth away and got to his feet. He had to get the cup to Light Finger at the thieves’ camp before Vali, or his dad, found it. Dumping the blanket and helmet in her arms, Whetstone walked away from the girl. He heard her mutter something under her breath, but then her metal studded boots thudded after him. Ducking through an archway, he spotted a long wooden building: a stable. Maybe he could, ahem, borrow a horse to help him on his way back to Krud. He could ask for directions when he was away from this odd ‘Lotta’ girl.
Whetstone entered the building. Horses of all colours and sizes pawed at the ground. A glimmer of gold caught his eye. In the last stall stood a magnificent horse with bright eyes, a shining golden coat and … EIGHT LEGS. Whetstone blinked, but none of the legs vanished. Four at the front and four at the back. He slowed to a stop, staring at the impossible horse.
Lotta caught up with him. ‘That’s Sleipnir –’ she reached out to stroke the horse’s nose – ‘Odin’s horse. You know: one eye, big beard, likes ravens.’
‘But that’s … That’s …’
‘Asgard,’ Lotta explained. ‘I did try to tell you.’ She set her mouth in a determined line. ‘But you have to go, or we’ll both be in big trouble.’ She dumped the helmet back on his head and began to shove Whetstone away from the golden horse. ‘We’re just lucky no one has noticed you’re not glowing yet.’
Whetstone stumbled on the rutted ground. ‘Wait a minute – I don’t understand. Gods live in Asgard, not people like me. Unless …’ He turned to face Lotta. ‘I’m not dead, am I?’
‘I wish.’
‘Thanks.’
Lotta cleared her throat, awkwardly. ‘There was a bit of a mix-up,’ she admitted. ‘I thought you WERE dead. I’m a Valkyrie.’
Whetstone nearly fell over again. ‘A WHAT!?!’
Sleipnir whinnied. The girl glanced around. ‘Be quiet or we’re going to get caught.’
‘But you’re a … a …’
‘A Valkyrie! Don’t tell me you don’t know what a Valkyrie is?’
Whetstone goggled at her.
Lotta sighed. ‘Shield maiden of Odin, Bringer of the Dead … Wait – you do know who Odin is, right?’
Whetstone felt his mouth drop open – he could only nod.
‘I wouldn’t ask, but you seem particularly thick, even for a human.’
Whetstone closed his mouth with a click.
In a sing-song voice, Lotta continued. ‘Valkyries swoop low over battlefields collecting the best warriors to build Odin’s army. They’re going to help us fight the Frost Giants at Ragnarok. Until then, they wait in his great hall – Valhalla.’ She pointed at the roof of spears that poked up over the other buildings. ‘You might have heard of it?’
Whetstone peered dumbly at the building. ‘That’s Valhalla?’
‘Yes. In Valhalla the best warriors –’ Lotta mimed whacking someone with her sword – ‘wait until they’re needed at the end of the world.’
‘That’s not soon, is it?’
Lotta shrugged. ‘That kind of depends on the Frost Giants.’
Whetstone tore his eyes away from the building of spears and shields. ‘I thought it would be bigger.’
‘It is, on the inside.’
Whetstone swallowed.
‘I’m in training, I’m a Class Three,’ Lotta continued, picking at her wrist guards. ‘It was my first trip to Midgard. I was supposed to bring back a Hero.’
‘But how did you find me? I was –’ he paused, not wanting to admit what he had really been up to – ‘nowhere near a battle.’
Lotta rolled her eyes. ‘We got a bit lost, if you must know. And I couldn’t come back empty-handed, so I brought –’ she gestured at Whetstone – ‘you.’
Whetstone gaped at her.
The girl looked at him critically. ‘It’s a shame you’re not dead. Even if you weren’t a Hero, I could’ve got away with it if you had been dead, but … So you have to go.’
‘I don’t see what the big deal is about Heroes anyway,’ Whetstone huffed. ‘Just because they have big muscles and cheese for brains.’
‘Like you would know. You’re nothing like a Hero.’
‘Exactly. I don’t have cheese for brains, and that’s why I’m not going anywhere.’ Whetstone grinned, his eyes bright. ‘Think of the stories they would make up about me if I brought back proof that I’d been to Asgard.’
‘Keep dreaming.’ Lotta glowered at him. ‘The only place you’re going is back to Midgard. Now.’
‘How?’ Whetstone’s stomach flipped in excitement. He jerked a thumb at Sleipnir. ‘Maybe I could take him?’
‘Yeah, steal Odin’s horse. Really subtle. Why not borrow Freyja’s Falcon Cloak or Loki’s Sky-Walking Shoes and fly down?’
‘Have you got flying shoes?’
‘Not shoes, no.’ Lotta straightened her shoulders. ‘Come with me.’
Whetstone found himself smuggled into yet another stable. Lotta had convinced Broken Tooth to stay outside and keep watch, just in case anyone came near.
These horses were bigger and more intimidating than anything found on a normal Viking farm. A large bay horse whinnied and pawed at the ground, flashing razor-sharp horseshoes.
Whetstone swallowed nervously. He wasn’t used to horses; the Angry Bogey had only been interested in wolves.
‘I’d like to hear more about these flying shoes,’ Whetstone called, edging past the bay horse. ‘Are they made of feathers or what? Cos feathers on the feet could be quite tickly.’
‘Forget about the shoes. We’re using the horses.’ Lotta pulled herself up into her saddle. Thighbiter immediately swung around to try and take a lump out of her leg. Lotta yanked hard on his reins and the horse danced sideways in annoyance.
‘Hey!’ Whetstone’s head popped up next to Thighbiter. ‘You nearly squashed me.’
‘Stop talking and get on!’ Lotta reached down to pull him up on to the horse when a warning growl came from Broken Tooth.
‘Oh no!’ Lotta pushed Whetstone back into the straw. The boy landed with a crash. He opened his mouth to wheeze a complaint but fell silent as voices approached from outside.
‘Are you sure this is where he said to wait?’
‘You heard the message too. What’s that?’
‘Yergh, it’s that slobbering dog of Lotta’s. What’s SHE doing here?’
‘Hide!’ Lotta hissed.
Looking around, Whetstone spotted a broad wooden beam, which crossed the width of the stable roof. Quickly he reached up, pulling himself on to it, his boots disappearing just as two pale girls walked in. They spotted Lotta and came to a halt.
‘Oh. It’s you,’ said one girl with a toss of her head. ‘I thought the smell was the dog, but it’s not.’ Whetstone peered down and saw that the girls were identical – they must be twins, except one had half of her hair cut off at the shoulder, leaving her with one long silver plait and one short tuft. He sniggered into his sleeve.
The other girl laughed. ‘Shouldn’t you be off polishing armour, barnacle-breath?’
‘Yeah, how many boots did Scold tell you to clean after your mess-up last week with the Saga of Svenson the Selfish?’
Below him, Lotta’s knuckles cracked as they squeezed Thighbiter’s reins.
‘Ahem.’
Whetstone turned his head to see a tall woman squinting at them from the doorway. It shouldn’t be possible to peer down your nose at someone who is sitting on a horse and is therefore much higher than you. The woman managed it, however. It was the same woman who had been looking for Broken Tooth after his dog-hair-in-Valhalla incident. ‘What are you up to?’ She glared at Lotta and the twins. ‘You three should be helping serve mead in Valhalla.’
‘We were just bringing some apples to Stinging Trots and Crashing Bore,’ the first girl simpered. ‘To say thank you for helping us on our trip to Midgard.’ She held out an apple to the large bay horse who had tried to terrorize Whetstone.
‘You made a good start, girls,’ the woman boomed, her face turning red from the volume. ‘Bringing back dead Heroes to fill Valhalla is every Valkyrie’s ULTIMATE PURPOSE!’
Dust rained down from the roof. Whetstone gripped his beam tightly, ignoring the spider trying to climb into his ear.
Scold plucked the gate key off its hook. ‘If you work hard, you can join the Class Twos later for extra flying practice. Until then, I expect to see you all in Valhalla.’
There was an excited yelp from outside – Broken Tooth had clearly been listening.
‘Not you, Broken Tooth. We’ve only just finished cleaning up from last time. You have five minutes.’ The woman gave Lotta one last glare, before stomping away.
Lotta slumped in her saddle. She glanced towards Whetstone’s hiding place, weighing up what to do.
Whetstone gave her an innocent smile, keen for them all to leave so that he could go exploring. It wasn’t often a Viking had the opportunity to visit Asgard – alive, anyway.
After a moment Lotta sighed and swung a leg over Thighbiter’s back to dismount. Whetstone’s grin widened.
‘Stay here,’ Lotta muttered out of the side of her mouth as she pretended to be adjusting Thighbiter’s bridle. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can – just don’t GO anywhere or DO anything.’
The girl who wasn’t missing half her plait moved forward to block Lotta’s path. ‘Who are you talking to, mollusc-face? It can’t be your friends, because you don’t have any.’
‘Get out of my way, Flee,’ Lotta growled, trying to step around her. ‘Before Scold comes back looking for us.’
Flee crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re hiding something – what have you done now?’
‘Nothing.’ Lotta’s fingers curled into fists. ‘Mind your own business.’ Behind her, Thighbiter stamped his hooves.
The other girl joined her sister. ‘Did you forget to sharpen the throwing axes again?’
‘Or leave the doors to Valhalla open so that the ravens got in and pooed everywhere?’
‘Or brought back a zero instead of a Hero?’
Whetstone pulled the spider out of his ear and dropped it on to Flee’s head. He watched in satisfaction as it burrowed into her hair.
‘SHUT UP!’
The one with the missing plait pushed a finger against Lotta’s breastplate, poking her. ‘Listen, scallop-brains – Flee and I are going to be head Valkyries one day, then things will change around here.’ She poked Lotta again. ‘You will never be a proper Valkyrie, you pathetic. Little. WHELK.’
Lotta glared back, her impatience growing. ‘Watch out, Flay, or you might lose another plait.’
Flay snarled and moved to grab Lotta’s arm, but Lotta dodged out of the way.
Behind them, the stable door slammed open, making the girls jump. Whetstone gripped the beam tightly to stop himself from falling off in shock.
‘IF YOU ARE QUITE FINISHED!’ boomed Scold. The mighty Valkyrie stood framed in the doorway, her massive horny helmet sparkling in the sunlight. ‘I don’t know what you three are up to, but it stops now. If you two –’ she gestured at the twins – ‘want to mess around in the stables, you can start by tidying the place up.’ She thrust a broom at Flee, who took it reluctantly. ‘Lotta, get into Valhalla NOW!’
Lotta walked towards the door, definitely not looking at the boy lying on the wooden beam. Luckily for him, no one had yet noticed he was there.
Flay’s fingers flexed as Lotta walked past. Flee stuck out the broom to try and trip her up, but Lotta sidestepped it and headed out.
Whetstone loosened his grip on the splintery wood and lay back on his beam. When he’d agreed to steal Awfulrick’s awful magic cup, he never thought he’d end up in another one of the Nine Worlds. Now he was trapped in Asgard in a stable full of flying horses with a bunch of very grouchy Valkyries. He brushed a spider web out of his hair. The magic cup might have to stay hidden for a little while longer. Whetstone grinned, thinking of all the other treasures in Asgard he could bring home with him.
Fortune and Glory awaits!