Odin Blew Up My TV! (2 page)

Greg’s younger brother Lewis didn’t know anything about the scary forest that had just appeared on the edge of town. He was down at St Andrews harbour, carefully lowering an empty glass jar on the end of a length of string into the water. His tongue was sticking out of the right side of his mouth, like it often did when he was concentrating.

He ignored the noise of the fishermen unloading their catch, the cawing of the gulls hovering about in search of scraps, and the chatter of some students who were taking a stroll down the pier in their bright red gowns. Here and there people were walking their dogs or just taking in the sea air.

“Hey there, mate, what’s that you’re up to?” a voice hailed him. “You’ll never catch a lobster in that jam jar. It’s way too small.”

Startled, Lewis looked up and saw Dave the Lobster walking towards him.

Dave the Lobster was not actually a lobster. He just knew a lot about them. He was doing research in marine biology at St Andrews University and he had come to the high school a couple of weeks ago to give a
talk – about lobsters, of course.

Their teacher had introduced him to Lewis’ class as Mr David Eccles from the Gatty Marine Laboratory, but by the time he’d spent an hour talking about lobsters, everyone was referring to him as Dave the Lobster.

As he ambled towards Lewis with his hands in his pockets, Dave the Lobster’s spiky hair was pointing straight up at the sky, the way hair does in cartoons when people get a fright. He was wearing a t-shirt with a picture of a lobster playing the guitar and the words ‘Rock Lobster’.

“Oh, hello, Mr Eccles,” said Lewis.

“Never mind that Mr Eccles lark,” said Dave the Lobster with a grin. “Just call me Dave. Hey, I remember you from the school. You were the one that asked all those questions about plankton and stuff.”

“That’s right, I’m…”

“No, don’t tell me,” Dave interrupted. “I never forget a face or a name. Well, I might forget one, but I never forget both. It starts with an ‘L’, right? It’s… Elvis?”

“It’s Lewis actually.”

“Close enough, eh? So what are you up to, Elvis?”

Lewis didn’t bother correcting him again. “I’m taking a water sample so I can examine it for marine life,” he explained.

Dave the Lobster’s eyebrows shot up. “Whoa! Been bitten by the marine science bug, have you? I know what that’s like. When I was three I caught a tadpole in the pond
behind my house. I was so excited I fell in. Took my mum ages to dry me off and she had to give me a jammy biscuit to stop me wailing. Didn’t put me off science, though.”

Lewis looked down to where the jar was floating in the harbour. He had to tug on the string to tilt it so that it would fill with water and sink. After a couple of tugs it plopped down out of sight.

“I can tell you what you’re going to find,” said Dave the Lobster. “Crab larvae, diatoms, some copepods and, oh yeah, loads of fish eggs. There are fish eggs floating about all over the sea, millions of them. Of course, you’ll need a microscope to see them. Got one?”

“A fish egg?”

“No, a microscope.”

“Yes, I got one for my birthday,” said Lewis as he hauled the jar back up. Holding it in his hand, he peered at it and a puzzled frown appeared on his face.

“Hang on,” said Dave the Lobster, leaning in for a look, “that’s a bit weird.”

Instead of being green and muddy, the water in the jar was a clear, light blue. It sparkled in the sunlight.

“Are you practising some kind of magic trick?” asked Dave the Lobster. “If you are, it’s a good one.”

“No,” said Lewis, shaking his head. “This is straight out of the harbour.”

Dave the Lobster’s jaw worked from side to side as if he
were chewing on the problem. “Maybe there’s been some kind of chemical spill.”

Lewis peered out across the bay and saw a white mist drifting in from the sea. “Could that cause mist as well?” he asked.

Dave followed Lewis’ gaze and his jaw worked even harder. “Tell you what,” he suggested, “empty out the jar and take a fresh sample. Maybe that first one was just a fluke.”

They both stared down and saw that the water directly below them was the same as in the jar – a bright, clear blue.

“I don’t think it will make any difference,” said Lewis.

At that moment the students who were standing out on the very end of the pier yelled excitedly. They were pointing out to sea, where a dragon’s head with huge red eyes had just poked out of the mist.

Their squeals turned to laughter and relief when they saw that the dragon’s head and neck were both made of wood. It was the prow of a ship that now surged fully into view.

“That’s a pretty old-style boat,” Dave the Lobster observed.

“It’s a Viking longship,” said Lewis.

The ship was long and sleek with two banks of oars rapidly chopping the water. With the dragonhead leading the way, it sped across the waves like a skimming stone.

“They’re going at some lick!” Dave exclaimed. “Those boys must be rowing like the clappers.”

“And they’re coming right for us,” said Lewis.

The heads of the crew bowed and bobbed as they leaned forward and hauled back on the oars. Lewis was sure there was something strange about the rowers but he couldn’t make out any details at this distance. He felt a tingle down his spine, an instinctive warning of danger. He’d had plenty of experience with Viking magic and it always meant trouble.

“I’ve got it,” said Dave the Lobster. “It must be some kind of historical re-enactment, you know, like all that Viking malarkey they do up in Shetland.”

“We’re a long way from Shetland,” Lewis pointed out.

“Yeah, well, I expect they got lost in that fog,” said Dave. “They should have used satnav.”

As the speeding ship reached the harbour mouth, the excited cries of the students turned to gasps of horror. They turned tail and dashed back towards town with their gowns flapping about their legs.

Dave the Lobster shouted after them, “It’s alright! They’re not real Vikings!” He turned to Lewis with a laugh and said, “Honestly, you’d think students would have a bit more sense.”

“They’re maybe not as daft as you think.” Lewis gulped.

As the ship pulled up alongside the pier, he could now see that the crew weren’t human. They were wolves.

One of them tied the ship to a metal ring on the pier wall then they all filed up the stone stairway, walking on their hind legs. They wore shirts of chainmail, and each
had a sword hanging at their side.

They lined up along the pier and made an attempt to stand to attention like soldiers on guard. However, they remained hunched, ready to spring on unwary prey, ears alert for danger and teeth bared in a threatening snarl.

The next figure to climb out of the longship was normal in comparison. From his red hair and small, pointed beard, his bright green suit and matching hat, you would have taken him for an overdressed businessman or a Las Vegas gambler.

Lewis recognised him at once as Loki, the Viking god of magic and mischief. His first impulse was to run away. His second impulse was to run away even faster. However, he knew he had to hang around to find out what the villain was up to this time.

Loki snapped his fingers and the wolf creatures fell into line behind him as he strolled up the pier, surveying the harbour as if he owned the place. The students had disappeared from sight but here and there passers-by were gathering in knots to stare at the strange new arrivals.

Flanked by his wolf guards, Loki stepped off the pier onto the harbour path.

“Wow those costumes are mega-cool!” Dave the Lobster exclaimed. “You’d almost think they were real wolves. Hey, do you think they could make me a lobster costume for the Marine Science Department’s Halloween party?”

“Dave, I don’t think this is any sort of re-enactment,”
said Lewis.

“Oh, right,” said Dave with a grin. “They’re making a
movie
.” He glanced around eagerly. “Can’t see any cameras. They must have them hidden so they don’t spoil the shot.”

Lewis realised the Viking god had spotted him. It was too late to run.

Loki sauntered up to him with the wolves close behind. “Well, well, look who’s here,” he said with a smirk. “On your own this time, eh, squirt? Where’s that loudmouth brother of yours and that feisty girl?”

Lewis swallowed hard. “They’re out of town for the day.” He knew Greg would have come up with a snappier answer so he added, “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Lucky for them, eh?” Loki chuckled. “But not so much for you.”

“Say, Elvis, do you know this guy?” asked Dave the Lobster.

Loki raised a scornful eyebrow. “And who is this clown?”

“Dave the Lobster,” Lewis answered without thinking. “Sorry, Mr Eccles,” he apologised. “That’s what everybody at school calls you.”

“No, it’s cool,” Dave beamed. “Dave the Lobster. Yeah, I like it.” He turned to Loki and offered a handshake. “And who might you be? All dressed up for St Patrick’s Day, are you? You’re a bit late.”

Loki ignored the outstretched hand. “I am Loki,” he
answered with an arrogant sneer. “Lord Loki, absolute ruler of this run-down burg—”

“Hey, no need to diss the town,” Dave interrupted.

Loki scowled and pressed on. “Ruler of this burg and all that lies beyond.” With a sweep of his arm he indicated all the countryside around St Andrews.

“That’s a nice suit,” Dave the Lobster complimented him, “and I like the hat too. Could I try it on? I always fancied myself in a trilby.”

“It’s not a trilby, it’s a fedora,” Loki snapped.

“Alright, keep your hair on. I was only asking,” said Dave. He turned his attention to one of the guards. “That’s pretty neat make-up, Logan. What are they supposed to be? Werewolves?”

“They’re wolflings,” Loki informed him testily, “children of Fenris the Great Wolf.”

Dave let out a low whistle to show how impressed he was. “So all this, the ship and everything, is this a publicity stunt for your movie or are you filming now with secret cameras?”

“This isn’t a film, you chump,” Loki barked. “I’m taking over. Get it? I’ve done away with Asgard, Odin and all the rest, and I’ve grabbed this little town of yours like it was a piece of candy.”

Dave scratched his head. “I’m not sure I follow you, Logan. Have you got a hand-out or something you could give me?”

The wolf guards growled and Dave took a step back.
Lewis had a feeling he’d better distract the god of mischief before the wolves turned Dave into a snack.

“Look, Loki, it’s only a matter of time before Thor or Odin comes along to pound on you,” he said, trying to sound reasonable. “So why don’t you give it up now and save everybody a lot of grief?”

Loki gave an evil chuckle. “Don’t hold your breath waiting for any of those jokers to show up.”

Lewis’ heart sank. If the other gods didn’t appear, and with Greg and Susie off to Dundee, it would be up to him to find a way to stop the god of mischief. He was wondering what on earth he could possibly do when he heard the sound of a car engine.

A police car appeared from behind the fishermen’s cottages, honking its horn to clear people out of the way.

“Hey, the cops!” Dave the Lobster exclaimed with a grin. “Don’t you worry, Elvis. They’ll sort this out.”

“It will take more than a caution to deal with Loki,” said Lewis, “and arresting him could be tricky.”

There were murmurs of both amazement and annoyance among the passengers as the bus drove back into town and up City Road.

Greg pulled out his phone. “I need to call Lewis and warn him,” he explained.

“Good idea,” said Susie. “Maybe he’ll have some idea what’s going on.”

Greg dialled a number. Instead of a ring, a chorus of high-pitched voices squeaked painfully. He pulled the phone away and stared at it as if it had just bitten him. “Great!” he groaned, switching it off. “The road’s blocked and my phone’s gone nuts. Try yours.”

“I’ll call home,” said Susie, “and see if anything funny’s happening there.” When she dialled, a din of hunting horns blared from the phone.

“Turn that row down!” growled the driver.

Susie punched the ‘off ’ button and scowled. “Aliens!” she grumbled.

“Look, I’ve tried to tell you, they’re not aliens,” said Greg. “Loki and the rest are ancient Norse gods.”

“They come from some other world and they have technology that lets them do all kinds of amazing stuff,” Susie insisted. “In my book that spells
aliens
.”

When they got to the station the bus pulled into its stance and the driver slumped back in his seat with a gasp of relief. Shouldering their daypacks, Susie and Greg immediately jumped up and made for the door. When it opened, an angry supervisor climbed aboard, blocking their way.

“What’s going on here, Dougie?” he demanded. “You should be well on your way to Dundee.”

The driver pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. “We had to turn back,” he said. “There was a… a… blockage on the road.”

“There were trees in the road,” an old man called out. “Trees! It’s a total disgrace.”

“Trees?” echoed the supervisor, screwing up his face in disbelief.

“That’s right,” chimed a silver-haired lady in a green coat. Greg recognised her as Mrs Gillespie, a retired teacher from his primary school. “I’ve an appointment with my reflexologist in Dundee, and if I’m late I’ll expect the bus company to pay compensation.”

“I don’t think anybody’s going to Dundee today,” Greg muttered under his breath.

He and Susie worked their way around the supervisor
and got off the bus.

“Your tickets are still valid for the whole day,” the supervisor called after them.

Greg and Susie looked anxiously about them, but there were no unexpected trees or wild animals to be seen. A couple of buses were parked at the stances, their engines idling, and there were people in the waiting room staring at timetables and reading magazines.

“It all looks normal,” said Susie. “What do you suppose is going on?”

“More of Loki’s capers,” said Greg. “He escaped Odin’s exile once before, so it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s done it again. But plonking a wood on the edge of town seems weird even for him.”

A bus marked ‘Leven’ pulled into the station. There was a big fuss among the passengers and the driver’s face was a mixture of annoyance and astonishment.

“I’ll bet you a million pounds that road is blocked as well,” said Susie as they headed towards the street.

“The whole of St Andrews must be completely cut off,” said Greg.

“We should head into town and have a nose about,” said Susie.

When they reached the pedestrian crossing the traffic lights were blazing wildly, and not just the usual colours. They were flashing purple, orange and silver, as well as
red, amber and green. Some cars had stopped, the drivers puzzling over whether they were allowed to carry on or not.

“Come on, let’s nip across,” said Susie, leading Greg to the other side.

They rounded the corner of Hope Park Church onto Market Street where some students were drinking coffee outside the Sombrero Café.

“Well, no trolls or goblins so far,” said Greg. “That’s something at least.”

“It doesn’t feel right, though,” said Susie. She pointed to the sky. “Look at the clouds. “Don’t they look funny to you?”

Greg squinted up. “Yes, they’re kind of gold coloured.”

They carried on down the street until they were halted by an outcry up ahead. A huge deer was charging at full speed towards them, scattering pedestrians out of its way. The great stag was as wild as the north wind, its proud head crowned with a magnificent set of antlers. There were flecks of gold in its thick brown fur and its eyes flashed a bright emerald green.

As it hurtled up Market Street people leapt aside and jumped into shop doorways. Greg and Susie pressed themselves flat against the door of a stationary shop as the stag thundered by, its hooves clattering on the pavement like an angry drumbeat.

Suddenly it pulled up and turned to face the window
of a knitwear shop. In the centre of the window display, surrounded by jumpers, socks and bobble hats, was a copy of a famous painting of a stag called
The Monarch of the Glen
.

The real beast stared at it, gave a furious snort, then lowered its antlers and crashed them through the window. As glass tinkled to the ground, the stag fixed the painting with a hard stare, as if challenging a rival. It sniffed a few times then, satisfied it had cowed its opponent, took off again, galloping down the road towards Kinburn Park.

“That beastie must have come out of the forest just like the wild boar,” said Susie.

“I think he’s as confused as we are,” said Greg. “Come on, we need to find Lewis before he gets eaten by a bear or something.”

All around them the stag had left a buzz of excitement in its wake. A woman in a big hat was saying, “Somebody should phone the RSPCA.”

At that moment a shadow passed across the sun. Susie glanced up and clutched Greg’s arm. “Look!”

“Is that a bird?” Greg exclaimed.

The creature was gigantic, swooping in from the south with its wings spread wide. Its scarlet and amber feathers made it seem like it was on fire.

“Look at the size of it!” Susie gasped. “It must be as big as a fighter jet.”

The fiery bird sailed closer. Skimming the roof of the
Victory Memorial Hall, it gave a harsh caw and pointed its sharp beak directly down Market Street.

“It’s coming this way,” said Susie.

Greg yanked her into the doorway of the Briteco supermarket as the crimson bird shot up the street at rooftop height. The people below instinctively ducked as it whooshed over them.

“It looks like a hawk to me,” Susie muttered. “In the past people used them for hunting.”

“Yes, but what is this one hunting?” Greg wondered.

At the far end of the street the bird banked and circled the roof of The Crispy Cod chip shop. Then it let out another screech and started back towards Greg and Susie. They retreated and the supermarket doors opened automatically behind them.

“I don’t like the look of this,” said Greg as they took shelter inside.

They crouched among the stacks of plastic baskets and watched the people in the street dashing about in panic as the giant bird dived lower.

There was a hubbub inside the store as well.

“I’m sorry,” one of the checkout girls was saying to a customer, “but according to my screen you owe…” She peered at the figures on the till, “…twelve gold pieces.”

Another customer was waving a receipt in the manager’s face. “It says here,” he declared indignantly, “I’ve bought
two goats and a barrel of ale.”

“Things are getting crazier by the minute,” said Susie. “I think some kind of alien energy field is at work here. It’s disrupting communications and stuff like that.”

“An alien energy field?” Greg repeated. “Spinny, where do you get these random ideas from?”

“Oh, I suppose you’re going to tell me it’s a magic spell,” said Susie. “Yes, that’s very sensible!”

Greg poked his head out the door and checked both ways down the street. “At least it looks like the hawk’s gone for now,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They stepped outside and stared upward, but the sky was empty except for the gold-tinged clouds.

“We need to find Lewis in a hurry,” said Susie.

Turning a deaf ear to the lingering excitement in the street, they headed for the harbour.