Dust motes floated past Whetstone’s nostrils, twinkling in the sunlight as he fought down a sneeze. He rubbed his nose and peered over his beam. Flee and Flay were in no hurry to leave the stables, and until they left, Whetstone was stuck, no matter how keen he was to get out and explore Asgard. It still didn’t seem possible that he was really here. He pinched himself on the arm, just to check if he was dreaming. ‘Ouch!’
One of the girls looked around. ‘What was that?’
Whetstone froze, convinced that the noise had given him away. A shadow fell across the doorway.
‘Oh it’s you.’ Flee tossed her plaits. ‘We got your message. What do you want?’
‘That’s not very nice,’ said the shadow.
Whetstone flinched. He recognized the voice – it belonged to Vali’s father. Whetstone gripped on tightly to the beam. A thought occurred to him: if Vali’s family live in Asgard, would that make Vali a God too? Vali: God of Stroppiness and an Unhealthy Interest in Knives. Whetstone wondered who Vali’s dad might be. There were loads of Norse Gods, and Whetstone had never really bothered to pay attention to their stories, even though the Angry Bogey had demonstrated an unusual interest in their comings and goings. It was not as if he had ever expected to find himself face to face with one of them.
Holding his breath, Whetstone cautiously leaned over the beam to try and get a glimpse of what was happening below.
The light dimmed, then brightened as the figure stepped through the stable door. ‘I was just checking up on my two favourite people.’
Flee sniffed. ‘Yeah, right.’
‘Where’ve you been?’ Flay said sulkily. ‘I missed your stories.’
‘And where’s the set of ivory runes you promised us after we found out where Frigg’s magic cup was?’
‘Yeah, it wasn’t easy getting Frigg’s servant to tell us.’
‘I can’t believe she sent it to Krud.’ Flee sniggered. ‘What a dump. What did you want it for, anyway? I’m sure there are easier ways to find out the future.’
Whetstone gripped on to the beam, unable to believe that Awfulrick’s magic cup really belonged to the Goddess Frigg. Light Finger was right – it could tell the future.
‘Wait,’ Flay said slowly. ‘Did you get in trouble again?’
‘I’m hurt you would think such a thing,’ the shadow purred as he approached the girls. ‘I’ve just been visiting family.’
Flay fiddled with her plait. ‘Where is Vali?’
Flee glared at her sister.
‘Oh, you know Vali. He’ll be lurking around somewhere.’
Flay giggled.
Whetstone craned his neck as the man passed under his beam. He saw a flash of golden hair, before a wooden post blocked his view.
‘So what’s been going on here?’ The shadow sidled closer to the two girls. ‘Nice haircut, Flay,’ he added with a snicker.
‘It’s all Lotta’s fault!’ she wailed.
‘Lotta?’
‘You know, the one with the stinky dog!’
‘She’s a Class Three Valkyrie, like us.’
‘For now.’
‘Yeah.’
‘She always ruins everything,’ Flee complained. ‘Last week she got thrown off her horse when we were practising our attack formation.’
‘Then she forgot the words to Svenson the Selfish when we were performing in front of ALL of Valhalla,’ Flay said with a sniff.
‘Yeah, she called him Svenson the Shellfish!’
‘And now she’s brought a dodgy warrior back from the battle.’
Whetstone gripped the beam tightly, his palms suddenly clammy.
‘Dodgy?’ the man asked. ‘How?’
Flee glanced at her sister. ‘Well, you know we’re supposed to bring back the best warriors? So most of us went for the big, burly ones covered in blood and scars. I even managed to get a Berserker, and they’re nuts!’
‘Berserk,’ the man agreed.
Flee crossed her arms. ‘But not Lotta. She turns up back at Asgard with this funny-looking boy – he wasn’t even wearing any armour.’
‘I don’t think he was a real Hero.’ Flay put her hands on her hips.
‘I don’t think he was a real Viking!’ Flee snorted.
‘We’ll never get made Class Twos with her slowing us down,’ Flay added. ‘I mean, I got Yorick the Snot Muncher. YORICK THE SNOT MUNCHER, for Thor’s sake! Who did she bring back? Wagner the Weedy?’
‘Dagfin the Drip?’
‘Bjorn the Boring?’
Whetstone tried very hard not to be offended. He plucked a fat earwig from a nearby joist and dropped it on to Flee’s head. He might not be a Hero, but that was just rude.
‘Where was the battle?’ the man asked. Whetstone could hear the urgency in his voice.
Flee twitched as the earwig scrambled down her plait and tucked itself inside her collar. ‘Dunno. Everywhere down there looks the same to me.’
‘The Battle of Big Helmets – it was on the coast, two villages over from Krud. We were supposed to turn left at the cliffs, remember?’ Flay gave her sister a funny look. ‘Are you all right?’
Flee paused, pulling at her tunic. ‘I’m fine. I just – Argh!’ The fat earwig pinged out of her collar and launched itself towards Flay’s face. Flay threw out her hand and batted it to the floor. She stamped down hard. Even Whetstone winced.
The man stepped forward. Whetstone could see the back of a tall, slender man wearing a fine red tunic. He leaned further out over the beam. ‘What did Lotta’s warrior look like?’
Flee let go of her collar and tossed her hair, one plait nearly hitting her sister in the face. ‘He was young, like, our age. Weedy-looking. Blond hair. Kinda dirty, with a cloak.’
Flay sniggered, wiping her boot on the floor. ‘Odin only knows where she got him from.’
‘A stable, maybe?’ the man asked. Whetstone felt like a trickle of ice had just run down his spine. This was bad. ‘Did he have anything with him? The cup, perhaps?’
Flee wiped her hand on her skirt. ‘Is that why you want him? You think he’s got Frigg’s cup?’
The man shifted, golden lights appearing in his hair. ‘Maybe.’ He straightened up. ‘Did you see him enter Valhalla with the other Heroes?’
Flay crossed her arms. ‘We didn’t stick around to watch. I dropped mine off by the steps of Valhalla. Odin was there, so I assume they were all resurrected as usual.’
‘Mine started to glow blue, like they’re supposed to,’ Flee added.
The man leaned forward. ‘I would very much like to meet this mysterious boy, Hero or not. How about you find him for me? I suspect he never made it to Valhalla.’
Flay rolled her eyes. ‘We don’t work for you. We didn’t get caught last time, but doing little favours for tricksters like you is against the Valkyrie code.’
The man turned, his sharp nose and collar-length hair silhouetted against the sunlight. ‘I could make it worth your while.’ He paused for a moment, then asked, ‘Do you remember what happened when Sif got her hair cut off?’
‘Yeah, by you, as a joke. It wasn’t very funny.’
‘Some people need to lighten up. Do you remember how I fixed it again?’
‘You got the Dwarves to make her new hair out of gold.’
‘And almost lost your head.’
The man waved the detail away as insignificant. ‘I could do it again – replace that plait of yours with shining strands of living gold. Or in your case, silver.’
Flay’s eyes widened. ‘You’d do that – for me?’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe. You see, what I like about you two girls is that you can see the bigger picture. Most people are caught up in the little details, but you’re different. You can look ahead. And if you want to get ahead, it’s useful to have friends who don’t mind risking theirs.’
‘You’re weird, Loki.’ Flee grinned.
Whetstone felt a pit open in his stomach. Loki! Vali’s dad was Loki the Trickster. The Angry Bogey had loved to tell stories about Loki. About the trouble he had caused, and the terrible tricks he played against Gods and Giants.
‘Just find me the boy,’ Loki instructed.
‘What are you going to do with him?’
Desperate to hear every word, Whetstone leaned dangerously far over the beam. Another spider climbed into his ear, and Whetstone shook his head, trying to knock it out. The movement left him unbalanced, his fingers slipping on the wood …
With a splintery CRASH, Whetstone tumbled off the beam and landed on the floor, right in between the twins. Clouds of dust and ancient horse droppings flew into the air. Whetstone felt like a tight band was fastening around his chest as he tried not to breathe in the foul stench.
Under their matching coatings of dust, Flee and Flay wore identical expressions of shock. Only Loki had escaped unscathed, having leaped out of the way in time.
Whetstone stared up into his handsome face. His scarred mouth was pulled into a laugh, but his eyes were dark and cold. ‘Whetstone!’
Flee and Flay both screamed in unison.
‘He’s human!’
‘He’s alive!’
The two girls threw themselves towards the stable door. ‘SCOOOOOOLLLLLLLDDDDDD!’
But before they could reach the door, a bright flash of green light filled the room. Whetstone flinched, remembering Loki’s treatment of Vali. The girls’ screams were abruptly cut off. Flee and Flay were motionless, encased in green light. Their eyes and mouths open mid-scream. Their feet hanging in mid-air.
Loki turned away from them and pulled Whetstone to his feet in one easy movement. ‘So you made it out of Krud, then,’ he purred with a smile. ‘And still alive – how surprising.’
Whetstone pulled himself away from the grinning man. ‘What did you do to them?’ He pointed at the twins.
‘I froze them – I won’t be needing them now.’
Whetstone backed away, deeper into the stables. ‘How do you know my name? What did Vali tell you?’
‘I don’t need Vali to find things out.’ Loki smiled more broadly, the scars stretching his lips, and Whetstone vaguely remembered a particularly gruesome story about Loki having his mouth sewn shut. ‘You would be amazed at the things I know about you.’
Whetstone tried not to stare.
‘I know you grew up in Drott.’ Loki inched closer. ‘And I know you long to be more than just the unremarkable child you are.’ The man crept forward on silent feet. ‘I know you, Whetstone, and I know you are in big trouble if anyone catches you – are you aware of what happens to living humans who come to Asgard?’
Whetstone didn’t trust himself to speak. He shook his head.
‘Niflheim.’
Whetstone was confused. ‘What’s Snifflheim?’
‘No! Niflheim,’ snapped Loki. ‘You’ll spend the rest of eternity in the land of the mist and shadows.’
‘Oh, I thought you said Snifflheim – like the land of sniffles and drippy noses.’
‘I don’t think you understand the graveness of the situation you are in,’ Loki hissed. His shape blurred for a moment, then he regained his normal appearance.
Whetstone gaped before remembering that Loki was a shapeshifter. More memories of the Angry Bogey’s stories flickered across Whetstone’s mind. Loki was a liar and a shapeshifter, and very, VERY clever. It was never entirely clear to Whetstone why the Gods let Loki stay in Asgard with them. He wasn’t a God himself but a Fire Giant, and therefore able to do certain types of magic, but he always seemed to be getting into trouble. Whetstone gulped – he had thought Awfulrick was dangerous.
Whetstone tried not to blink. It was a bit like trying to outstare a snake. His eyes started to water.
The Trickster smiled. ‘Now, you’re lucky you ran into me. You see, I don’t care why you’re here or who brought you.’
A flicker of guilt ran across Whetstone’s face as he thought of Lotta. He took a step backwards.
‘All I want is the magic cup of Awfulrick, and I know you have it.’
Whetstone backed into a corner, the heels of his boots meeting the wall behind him. ‘You mean the magic cup of Frigg? Can it really tell fortunes?’ he asked, eyeing the doorway over Loki’s shoulder.
Loki smiled again, his pale face floating out towards Whetstone in the gloom. ‘Indeed – it can tell the future of anyone who holds it.’
‘Really?’ Whetstone leaned forward. ‘Does that mean the riddle has something to do with my future?’
The man’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed again. ‘Now wherever did you hear about a riddle?’
‘I haven’t – I just—’ Whetstone protested. His words were cut short as the stable door creaked open. A shape stepped inside, too small for Scold, too few legs for Broken Tooth.
‘Whetstone?’ Lotta whispered.
The boy tried to call out, but Loki moved faster. In a tumble of feathers, a hawk appeared where the man had been and dived towards Lotta. Loki reformed, slipping in between Lotta and the stable door, closing it firmly behind her. She flinched and instinctively unsheathed the sword strapped across her back.
‘Well, well. Look what I found,’ Loki began in a sing-song voice, his face glowing eerily in the green light surrounding Flee and Flay. ‘The thief and the Valkyrie – how sweet.’
Whetstone felt his face burn as Lotta lowered her sword and glowered at Loki. He slid into Thighbiter’s stall. The horse sniffed him and tried to take a bite out of his hair.
‘What are you talking about?’ Lotta pointed at Flee and Flay with her sword. ‘Scold sent me to fetch them.’ She examined Flay, frozen mid-scream, and tried to give her a poke. ‘Ow!’ She sucked at her stinging fingers. ‘You’d better unfreeze them. Scold wants them in Valhalla.’
The man laughed. ‘I don’t think you really mean that.’
‘No?’
‘You should be thanking me.’ He edged Lotta deeper into the stables.
‘Thanking you, Loki? For freezing Flee and Flay? I could’ve taken care of them myself.’
Loki just smiled his twisted smile. ‘I know your little secret, Valkyrie girl. And now I’m the only thing standing between you and banishment from Asgard.’
Even in the green light, Whetstone could see Lotta’s dark skin break out in a sweat. ‘Banishment?’ she croaked.
Loki nodded. ‘Isn’t that the punishment for breaking the Valkyrie code?’
Lotta swallowed. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She sounded confident, but her shaking hands made her wrist guards rattle.
‘Oh really?’ Loki grinned. ‘Then who is this? He doesn’t look much like a dead Hero to me.’
Whetstone felt his body rise into the air as though he had been picked up by a gigantic hand. He cried out in shock, trying to grab hold of Thighbiter and failing. He floated away from the horse and hung suspended in front of Lotta, his toes dangling a foot above the ground.
Lotta gulped.
‘You are very lucky, really,’ Loki continued as Whetstone spun gently in the air. ‘I happen to know that before he was brought to Asgard, this boy stole a magic cup. All he has to do is give it to me and I will make this whole thing –’ he waved his hand and Whetstone dropped to the floor with a bump – ‘disappear.’
‘I’ve never seen him before,’ Lotta quavered.
‘Oh dear,’ Loki said. ‘I hope you’re not going to make this difficult.’ The man opened his arms wide. ‘I’m only trying to help,’ he said, moving away. ‘All I want is the cup. Of course, if you want to give up your Valkyrie powers and move to Midgard, I guess I could send Flee and Flay to tell Scold now?’
Lotta shook her head.
‘Just leave her out of this,’ called Whetstone, pushing his cloak out of his face.
Loki moved closer, his eyes fixed on the dark-haired Valkyrie. ‘There’s no need for Scold to ever know about your little mistake – as long as I get what I want.’
‘I’m not a thief.’ Lotta clenched her hands into fists.
‘And you won’t be a Valkyrie for much longer, either.’
Lotta took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She poked the boy with the toe of her boot. ‘Go on then. Give it to him.’
Whetstone crossed his arms. ‘No.’
Lotta opened her eyes. ‘What do you mean, no?’
‘He’s not getting it. I have plans for that cup.’
‘Don’t be stupid!’ Lotta pulled at his cloak, searching for pockets. ‘Just give him the cup!’
Whetstone swatted her away. ‘Tough luck – I don’t have it with me!’
Loki looked like he had just bitten a lemon, an expression that reminded Whetstone a lot of Vali.
‘But you know where it is,’ Lotta hissed. ‘Don’t you?’
Whetstone bit the inside of his lip. He really didn’t want to tell Loki what he had done with the cup, but Vali must have figured out it was somewhere on Ivor the Nose Grinder’s farm. He needed to get there first … ‘It’s hidden on Midgard,’ he said slowly, weighing his words.
Lotta turned to the handsome man. ‘There you go – it’s on Midgard. Whetstone will get it for you.’
Loki waved a hand towards Flee and Flay, and the magic holding them wavered.
‘—OOOLLLD!’ the twins wailed before freezing again.
‘I’ll go with him and bring it to you,’ Lotta amended, her fingers twisting together. ‘We’ll give you the cup and we can all forget this ever happened. But what about Flee and Flay?’ She gestured towards the eerie glow in the doorway. ‘You can’t keep them frozen forever.’
‘Bring me the cup and I’ll make sure they don’t remember a thing, Gods’ honour,’ Loki replied, holding up three fingers in a kind of salute.
Lotta squinted at him.
‘Think of it as a quest,’ Loki continued, holding eye contact with Lotta. ‘Worthy of Heroes.’
‘Heroes,’ Lotta murmured.
‘Just one problem – as everyone keeps pointing out, I’m not a Hero.’ Whetstone crossed his arms.
Lotta and Loki turned to look at him.
Whetstone glared at Loki. ‘Even if I give you the cup, how do I know you’ll keep your side of the bargain? You could still send me to Snifflheim or wherever.’
Loki focused his dark eyes on Whetstone, and the boy felt himself trapped in their penetrating gaze. ‘I can give you everything you ever wanted … Fame and Fortune.’ Loki ran his hand along the stable wall. His fingers left behind a trail of yellow sparks, which turned into golden coins. Whetstone’s eyes grew wide as more money than he had ever seen in his life dripped on to the floor. ‘Don’t you want minstrels to sing songs about you?’
Whetstone paused, arguments dying in his throat.
Loki turned back to Lotta. ‘Of course,’ he added delicately, ‘if the boy fails, I will be unable to prevent you from facing the punishment laid down by Odin and the Valkyrie council.’
Lotta’s brow furrowed. ‘So it all depends on him? That’s not fair!’
‘Life’s not fair, Princess.’
Whetstone tried to keep his face blank as his mind spun. This would make a great story for the minstrels to sing about him. Visiting Asgard, making oaths, finding magical treasures was all good stuff. He dragged his eyes away from the piles of golden coins. But he would need something to prove he’d been there. And of course, just because he dug up the cup, it didn’t mean he had to give it to Loki straight away. If the cup could tell the future, Whetstone had some questions he wanted it to answer first. Like, would he become the greatest thief EVER? Or, how could he get rid of that itchy rash behind his left knee? Of course, Light Finger would be upset about not getting the cup, but Whetstone felt he could find something here in Asgard to bring him instead.
‘OK,’ Whetstone said out loud. ‘It’s a deal. The cup for Fame and Fortune.’
Loki rubbed his hands together. ‘Excellent! So that’s decided then. You have one day to bring me the cup or I unfreeze the twins.’
Lotta looked up in panic. ‘Wait a minute – one day? That’s not very long.’
Loki smiled at her, the movement stretching his scars into strange shapes. ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘It isn’t.’