9 From the Nine Worlds Page 3

  Darting from one alley to another, I zigzagged my way through a maze of unfamiliar streets. At one point I fell face-first in a mud puddle, totally ruining my lavender overcoat. When I finally stopped to catch my breath, I was in a part of Nidavellir I’d never been before. It reminded me of a sketchy section of downtown Boston I’d warned Magnus to avoid.

  I put up my collar and started walking. Asking for directions to my neighbourhood was out. The few dwarves I passed either avoided making eye contact or rudely mocked my mud-soaked coat. To be fair, they would have mocked it even if it was clean. No appreciation for fashion, dwarves.

  I came to a windowless tavern. Muffled pinging and dinging sounds came from within. Not my first choice of sanctuary, but better than roaming the streets aimlessly. I ducked inside.

  The interior was dimly lit even by Nidavellir standards, except for the row of pachinko machines. A cross between a vertical pinball game and a coin-operated gumball dispenser, they blinked and flashed with garish coloured lights that clashed horribly with the dark wood and red-checkered décor. Seeing those games brought back painful memories of someone I was once connected to – and hoped to stay disconnected from. And then there was the smell – it took all my willpower not to press my handkerchief to my nose as I took a seat at the bar.

  The bartender stood at the far end, polishing the inside of a brass mug. I raised a finger to get his attention.

  ‘Hey, pal, I don’t suppose you could tell me how to get to Kenning Square from here?’

  He spat into the mug, then continued wiping it with his filthy rag. ‘Play, drink or get out.’

  ‘Play? Oh, you mean pachinko. The thing is, I’m not much of a gambler.’

  ‘Play, drink or get out.’

  ‘I’m not much of a drinker, either.’

  ‘Play, drink or –’

  The door banged open and a sour-faced dwarf came in. My heart plummeted. He was one of Junior’s cronies.

  I slid off the stool. ‘You know what? I think I’ll play.’ I hurried to a machine tucked away in a corner and inserted a coin.

  The game board went dark. ‘What the –?’

  An extremely short but strong-looking dwarf emerged from the shadows. The machine’s power cable dangled from his hand.

  ‘You owe me a quarter,’ I said huffily.

  The minuscule muscleman stepped closer and menaced my midriff with a scowl. ‘Someone wants to see you,’ he said.

  I cut my eyes towards the front of the bar, where Junior’s henchman was questioning the bartender. ‘If it’s that guy, I’m not interested.’

  The burly dwarf glared up at me, then kicked open a hidden door next to the machine and stepped aside. ‘In the back. Now.’

  I would have refused, except I heard the bartender say, ‘Yeah, he’s here. Now play, drink or get out.’

  ‘Right. In the back. Now.’ I darted through the opening. The door closed with a quiet click behind me.

  The back room was as dimly lit as the bar. A massive oak desk – beautifully carved, clearly a one-of-a-kind piece – took up much of the space. Behind it was a hand-tooled leather chair with brass rivets, its back to me.

  ‘Um, hello?’ I ventured. ‘You wanted to see me?’

  The chair rotated with agonizing slowness. I held my breath, waiting to see who sat in it. It was empty.

  ‘Ha-ha, very funny. You got me – whoever you are.’

  Laughter gurgled from the side wall. A light suddenly blazed, illuminating a large fish tank. There were no fish in it, though. Just a severed, bearded head bobbing in the water next to a plastic treasure chest.

  I groaned. ‘Mimir. I should have known.’

  Mimir, an ancient god and my sometime employer, had a body once. Then he tried to pull a fast one on the Vanir. He dispensed wise advice through Honir, the god of indecision, and made them think he was a sage. When the Vanir discovered the deception, they decapitated Mimir. He survived from the neck up, thanks to Odin’s magic and the waters of the well of knowledge at the roots of Yggdrasil. He can usually be found there still, dishing out intel to supplicants in exchange for their servitude. I’d been his servant for a few years (long story), but even now that I was free, he still sometimes showed up in other bodies of water, usually to make my life miserable.

  The head bobbed to the surface. ‘Hey, Blitz,’ Mimir said. ‘Long time no see. Pull up a seat. We got things to discuss. That’s why I brought you here.’

  ‘What do you mean, brought me here?’

  Mimir chuckle-bubbled. ‘A little wheelchair sabotage, a little magical manipulation of certain alleyways, bada-bing, bada-boom, and here you are. So take a seat and have a listen.’

  I drew myself up to my full five feet five inches. ‘Odin freed me from your service, remember?’

  Mimir sloshed with annoyance. ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. Thing is, the worlds might be in trouble if you don’t act on what I’m about to tell you. Now you interested in what I’ve got to say?’

  I huffed as I sat in the leather chair. Why me? ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Right. You ever heard of a dwarf named Alviss?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Nasty piece of work. Anyway, he’s plotting to kill Thor on account of Alviss was supposed to marry Thor’s daughter, Thrud. Only Thor changed his mind at the last minute and petrified the guy instead. Someone fixed Alviss up with a little water, so now he is back to normal, and he is peeved. When he found out Thor was heading to Nidavellir on his jog through the Nine Worlds –’

  ‘Thor’s jog through …?’ I held up a hand. ‘Never mind. It’s Thor. I should know better than to ask.’

  ‘As I was saying, Alviss is planning to take his revenge.’ Mimir floated down to the treasure chest and, using his chin, pressed a button to open it. Out popped a card, which he grabbed in his teeth, brought back to the surface and offered to me.

  I removed it gingerly from between his chompers. It was a plastic-laminated map of Nidavellir.

  ‘See that X?’ Mimir asked. ‘My sources say that’s where Alviss will attack. Be there. Stop him. I estimate you’ve got two hours to come up with a plan to save the thunder god.’

  ‘Me, save Thor?’ I scoffed. ‘He can take care of himself!’

  Mimir did a double take. ‘You don’t get it! You’ve gotta do the job without letting Thor realize he was ever in danger. That means zero contact with the thunder god. You can’t even call out his name. If he finds out about Alviss, he could get mad enough to zap all the dwarves – boom!’

  Before I could ask further questions, like why his sources couldn’t deal with Alviss themselves, Mimir yanked a plug at the bottom of the tank with his teeth and was sucked down the drain, leaving me with a dripping map and no idea what to do. And I was still out a quarter from the pachinko machine.

  At least I got back to my apartment safely, thanks to directions from the minuscule dwarf thug. Once inside, I studied the map. I recognized the X’s location, a steep cliff overlooking a river I had once fallen into with my buddy Hearthstone. We’d washed up in Mimir’s well of knowledge, which was how we ended up bound in service to him in the first place.

  Knowing the X’s location was the plus in the situation. On the minus side, the only way I could think of to stop Alviss – aside from killing or maiming him, which I was not going to do; I had enough enemies in Nidavellir already – would be to replicate what Thor did and petrify Alviss. Then I could revive him with fresh running water once the thunder god was out of danger.

  There was just one catch: petrification required sunlight, something Nidavellir lacked.

  Okay, two catches: if the sunlight hit me, I’d turn into a statue, too. A well-dressed one, but still …

  I paced the apartment. Made myself a snack. Paced some more. Checked the time. Panicked. Paced some more.

  ‘Sunlight. Where am I going to get sunlight?’

  I searched the room for inspiration. I picked up an expand-o-duck, the metal figurine I handcrafted that thwarted enemies
by growing to immense size and crushing them. Would it solve my problem with Alviss, though? I didn’t think so.

  Still holding the duck, my gaze landed on Hearthstone’s tanning bed. My elf friend used its simulated sunlight to keep him healthy when he came to stay. I looked from the duck to the bed and back again. Suddenly the wheels in my brain started turning.

  ‘What if I built a smaller version of the tanning bed,’ I asked the duck, ‘but tweaked the light so that instead of a soft warm glow, it shot out a powerful concentrated beam of sunlight when I opened it? That could work, right?’ I made the duck nod, then got busy.

  Forty-five minutes later I had crafted a perfect handheld replica of Hearth’s bed. When I opened the clamshell – away from my face – a burst of brilliant sunlight shone out. I quickly snapped it shut again. ‘Probably not going to be a big seller in Nidavellir,’ I acknowledged. ‘But hopefully it’ll do the trick.’

  With no time to lose, I selected a stylish ninja outfit from my wardrobe – fitted dark jeans and a black cashmere hoodie with a front pocket for the mini bed – and hurried to the riverside. I hid myself in the shadows.

  But either Alviss was a no-show or Mimir’s sources were wrong, because no one else, angry dwarf or jogging god, was anywhere in sight.

  Or so I thought.

  Scritch-scritch.

  Nidavellir is an underground world with domed cavern ceilings overhead instead of sky. The scratching sound had come from above me. I looked up and saw a dwarf clinging to a stalactite. One end of a rope was wrapped around his waist. The other was attached to a second stalactite way in front of him and directly over the street where Thor was likely to run. Jammed in Alviss’s belt was a club bigger than he was.

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out his plan: swing down like a pendulum and club Thor on the head.

  This presented my plan with two unanticipated problems. One: I wasn’t sure how far my sunbeam would shoot. The Nidavellir darkness might swallow it before it reached Alviss on the ceiling. I’d have to wait for him to swing down. That meant hitting a moving target. Problem number two: assuming I petrified the dwarf, I had to be sure he swung past or over Thor, not into him.

  Then a third problem arose. The ground started shaking with measured thuds, which meant I’d run out of time.

  ‘Thor.’ Alviss’s furious whisper echoed off the cavern walls.

  Heart pounding, I pulled out the mini bed. The footfalls drew closer. Thor thundered round a bend in the distance. The sight of him in his tighty-leatherys almost made me root for Alviss.

  ‘Rock, rock. Rock-rock-rock. Rock, rock. Rock-rock-rock,’ Thor muttered in a loud monotone.

  Eyes glued to Alviss, I got into a crouch. Thor drew nearer. I huffed a few quick breaths to psych myself up. Then –

  ‘Aaaiiiiii!’ With a triumphant yell, Alviss let go of the stalactite. At the same time I launched myself into Thor’s path. I tucked, rolled and caught a horrifying glimpse of his leather-clad god parts a split second before he tripped over me.

  ‘Rock. Rock. Rock-rock-whoa!’

  Thor pitched forward just as Alviss flew overhead, swinging for the fences. The dwarf’s club swished through empty air. Thor righted himself and kept going. ‘Rock. Rock. Rock-rock-rock …’

  I’d broken the ‘zero contact’ instruction, but the thunder god seemed oblivious to my presence, so no harm done. As for the killer dwarf –

  ‘Noooooo!’

  Flailing his club, Alviss reached the swing’s high point and came screaming – literally – back. I opened the mini bed.

  Zot! Alviss’s scream cut off. I watched as the now petrified dwarf sailed past.

  I know what it’s like to be petrified. It stinks. So I had every intention of cutting Alviss free on his next pass and then dipping him in the river to restore him. But before I could, the stalactite attached to the rope broke. Alviss’s momentum carried him over the cliff edge. He landed with a splash in the water below.

  ‘Oops.’ I peered down, then waved my hand dismissively. ‘Ah, he’ll be fine.’

  ‘Blitzen!’ Junior suddenly appeared. He headed towards me with his rocket-powered walker and a lot of friends. ‘Get him, boys!’

  ‘Ha! Eat light, Junior!’ I unleashed the power of the mini bed.

  Sadly, instead of a turn-you-to-stone laser beam, a weak glow enveloped Junior like a soft blanket. The charge had run out. A thin crust formed around him. It was nowhere near as dramatic as instant petrification, but it was startling enough to make the other dwarves pause.

  And that made me think about how I looked to them. A dwarf who handcrafts a weapon that petrifies other dwarves? Not cool.

  ‘Listen!’ I yelled. ‘My argument is with Junior, not you. When he decrustifies, tell him I want to talk.’

  I put the mini bed on the ground and showed them my empty hands while slowly backing away.

  It would have been a very powerful moment if I hadn’t backed off the cliff into the river. As I thrashed through the churning water towards shore, three things occurred to me. One: Junior would never, ever forgive me. Two: my cashmere hoodie was ruined. And three … Mimir owed me a lot more than a quarter.

  Speaking of Trolls …

  BY HEARTHSTONE

  ‘Ready for the next one?’

  I lip-read T.J.’s question and nodded. He slid a flash card with a handwritten swear word on it across the table, then watched me with gleeful anticipation.

  Smiling faintly, I opened my mind and focused on the dagaz runestone in my hand. Magic flowed through me like water through a pebbled stream. The stone warmed, and I signed a swear. I felt sound vibrations in the air, then T.J. fell back onto his bed, shaking with laughter.

  I gave him a look and signed three words: Pull yourself together.

  ‘Right. Sorry.’ T.J. grinned. ‘It’s just … hearing swear words come out of thin air like that cracks me up every time.’

  I’ve never heard the sound of voices. I’ve rarely uttered a sound, either, aside from the occasional sharp intake of breath. Communication had never been a problem, however. My closest friends, Blitzen, Magnus and Sam, knew ASL – Alf Sign Language – so we conversed easily. When the need arose, they translated for me.

  But now I was spending more time in Hotel Valhalla. Many einherjar didn’t know or seem interested in learning ASL (except for T.J., who felt that he needed to learn more curses in order to keep up with Halfborn and Mallory). Blitz, Magnus and Sam weren’t always around to translate, and I had an intense dislike of writing down my words for others to read. Because reasons.

  So I came up with a different way to communicate: rune magic using dagaz, the symbol meaning new beginnings and transformations, to convert my signs into spoken words.

  I touched my tightly closed fingertips together: More.

  T.J. nodded and slid over another card. I’d just opened my mind when he broke my concentration by tapping my leg. He pointed to a thin gold band around my wrist and asked, ‘Why’s it doing that?’

  The band was a gift from Inge, a lovely hulder – a woodland being like a sprite, with a cow’s tail and minor magical powers. Inge had once served my family in Alfheim. Been enslaved by, more accurately. I had released her from service the first moment I could. In return, she had made me the bracelet with strands of her hair. She and the band were connected by magic, she had explained. If I were ever in trouble, the bracelet would send her a signal. Likewise, I would know she needed help if the bracelet was twinkling.

  The bracelet was twinkling.

  Alarmed, I leaped to my feet and shoved the dagaz rune into my pocket. T.J. grabbed my arm. ‘Hearth! Is everything okay?’

  I shook my head and pulled myself free. T.J. deserved more of an explanation, but there wasn’t time. I had to get to Alfheim.

  I grabbed my rune bag and raced across the hall to Magnus’s room. Inside was an atrium with direct access to Yggdrasil, the World Tree. I swung up into its branches and climbed to the nearest entrance to my home world
. The last thing I saw before I slipped through was T.J. staring up at me in confusion.

  Then I was floating through the intense sunlight of my world. Far below was the weed-choked rubble heap that was once my childhood home. I willed myself to shift direction away from it. Not because I regretted its destruction – quite the opposite; the place conjured up nothing but unhappy memories – but because I knew Inge would be elsewhere. And wherever she was, she was in trouble. The bracelet conveyed that much with its frantic twinkling. She’d been captured, I feared, and enslaved as she had once been by my family.

  I landed on an immaculate patch of grass in a picturesque park. The shade trees, duck ponds, trimmed hedges – everything around me screamed perfection, like most things in Alfheim. I kicked up a divot just to leave a blemish, then set off to find Inge.

  There was just one problem: Alfheim was vast. Wealthy estates like my family manor were separated by miles of open green space. Neat, orderly neighbourhoods of smaller dwellings marched row after row as far as the eye could see. It would take weeks to locate her by going door-to-door, and even if I found the right house, it was unlikely that the owners would admit she was there.

  So I made an educated guess and cut across the park towards the wealthiest neighbourhood. I figured I was on the right track when the bracelet’s lights began pulsing faster. Just to be sure, I switched direction. The pulsing stopped. The miniature light show resumed when I returned to my original course. I did a subtle fist pump and hurried on.

  The bracelet led me to a gleaming white mansion surrounded by lush gardens, well-manicured lawns and a polished marble wall topped with sparkling shards of glass. Unfortunately it had a guard hut outside the massive iron gates, so climbing over that wall was out of the question. So was sneaking round to search for another way in, because, as I stood there thinking, the two guards spotted me. They were old acquaintances of mine, police elves Wildflower and Sunspot. And by acquaintances, I mean ‘not friends’.