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"Yes, I see--"
"I went somewhere I could get good and angry in pence, when I knew you'd be otherwise occupied and expecting me to be here, and I had a hell of a good shout and blew things up a bit, and I'm all right now! And I'm going to tear this up for a start!"
He ripped right through the contract, threw the pieces in the air and incinerated them with a look.
"Thor--" said Kate.
"And I'm going to put right all the things you made happen so I'd be afraid of getting angry. The poor girl at the airline check-in desk that got turned into a drink machine. Woof! Wham! She's back! The jet fighter that tried to shoot me down when I was flying to Norway! Woof! Wham! It's back! See, I'm back in control of myself!"
"What jet fighter?" asked Kate. "You haven't told me about a jet fighter."
"It tried to shoot me down over the North Sea. We had a scrap and in the heat of the moment I, well, I turned it into an eagle, and it's been bothering me ever since. So now that's dealt with. Don't look at me like that. I did what I could. I took care of his wife by fixing one of those lottery things. Look," he added angrily, "all this has been very difficult for me, you know. All right. What else?"
"My table lamp," said Kate quietly.
"And Kate's table lamp! It shall be a small kitten no more! Woof! Wham! Thor speaks and it is so! What was that noise?"
A ruddy glow was spreading across the London skyline.
Thor, I think there's something wrong with your father."
"I should bloody well hope so. Oh. What's wrong? Father? Are you all right?"
"I have been so very, very foolish and unwise," wept Odin, "I have been so wicked and evil, and--"
"Yes, well that's what I think, too," said Thor and sat on the end of his bed. "So what are we going to do?"
"I don't think I could live without my linen, and my Sister Bailey, and . . . It's been so, so, so long, and I'm so, so old. Toe Rag said I should kill you, but I . . . I would rather have killed myself. Oh, Thor . . . "
"Oh," said Thor. "I see. Well. I don't know what to do now. Blast. Blast everything."
"Thor -"
"Yes, yes, what is it?"
"Thor, it's very simple what you do about your father and the Woodshead," said Kate.
"Oh yes? What then?"
"I'll tell you on one condition."
"Oh really? And what's that?"
"That you tell me how many stones there are in Wales."
"What!" exclaimed Thor in outrage. "Away from me! That's years of my life you're talking about!"
Kate shrugged.
"No!" said Thor. "Anything but that! Anyway, he added sullenly, "I told you."
"No you didn't."
"Yes I did. I said I lost count somewhere in Mid-Glamorgan. Well, I was hardly going to start again, was I? Think, girl, think!
33
* * *
Beating a path through the difficult territory to the north-east of Valhalla--a network of paths that seemed to lead only to other paths and then back to the first paths again for another try--went two figures, one a big, stupid, violent creature with green eyes and a scythe which hung from its belt and often seriously impeded its progress, the other a small crazed creature who clung on to the back of the bigger one, manically urging him on white actually impeding his progress still further.
They attained at last a long, low, smelly building into which they hurried shouting for horses. The old stable master came forward, recognised them and, having heard already of their disgrace, was at first disinclined to help them on their way. 'The scythe flashed through the air and the stable master's head started upwards in surprise while his body took an affronted step backwards, swayed uncertainly, and then for lack of any further instructions to the contrary keeled over backwards in its own time. His head bounded into the hay.
His assailants hurriedly lashed up two horses to a cart and clattered away out of the stable yard and along the broader thoroughfare which led upwards to the north.
They made rapid progress up the road for a mile, Toe Rag urging the horses on frantically with a long and cruel whip. After a few minutes, however, the horses began to slow down and to look about them uneasily. Toe Rag lashed them all the harder, but they became more anxious still then suddenly lost all control and reared in terror, turning over the cart and tipping its occupants out on the ground, from which they instantly sprang up in a rage.
Toe Rag screamed at the terrified horses and then, out of the corner of his eye, caught sight of what had so disturbed them.
It wasn't so terrifying. It was just a large, white, metal box, upturned on a pile of rubbish by the roadside and rattling itself.
The horses were rearing and trying to bolt away from the big white rattling thing but they were impossibly entangled in their traces. They were only working themselves up into a thrashing lather of panic. Toe Rag quickly realised that there would be no calming them until the box was dealt with.
"Whatever it is," he screeched at the green-eyed creature, "kill it!"
Green-eye unhooked his scythe from his belt once more and clambered up the pile of rubbish to where the box was rattling. He kicked i
t and it only rattled the more. He got his foot behind it and with a heavy thrust shoved it away down the heap. The big white box slithered a foot or so then turned over and toppled to the ground. It rested there for a moment and then a door, finally freed, flew open. The horses screamed in fear.
Toe Rag and his green-eyed thug approached the thing with worried curiosity, then staggered back in horror as a great and powerful new god erupted from its innards.
34
* * *
The following afternoon, at a comfortable distance from all these events, set at a comfortable distance from a well-proportioned window through which the afternoon light was streaming, lay an elderly one-eyed man in a white bed. A newspaper sat like a half-collapsed tent on the floor, where it had been hurled two minutes before.
The man was awake but not glad to be. His exquisitely frail hands lay slightly curled on the pure white linen sheets and quivered very faintly.
His name was variously given as Mr Odwin, or Wodin, or Odin. He was--is--a god, and furthermore he was a confused and startled god.
He was confused and startled because of the report he had just been reading on the front page of the newspaper, which was that another god had been cutting loose and making a nuisance of himself. It didn't say so in so many words of course, it merely described what had happened last night when a missing jet fighter aircraft had mysteriously erupted under full power from out of a house in North London into which it could not conceivably have been thought to have fitted. It had instantly lost its wings and gone into a screaming dive and crashed and exploded in a main road. The pilot had managed to eject during the few seconds he had had in the air, and had landed, shaken, bruised, but otherwise unharmed, and babbling about strange men with hammers flying over the North Sea.
