The Book of Doom (8 page)

“Right, good. Well, this one has been taken from... Well, it doesn’t matter where it was taken from, but it’s now in Hell.”

“Single or double L?”

Zac hesitated. “What?”

“Is the book in
Hell
, double L, or
Hel,
single L?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Double L’s a place. Single L’s the daughter of Loki.”

Zac tutted quietly. “Well, the place, obviously. How would the daughter of Loki have a book in her?”

Herya shrugged. “She’s a big lass. You’re eating into your two minutes,” the Valkyrie advised. “Get to the point.”

“I need to find a way into Hell, and I thought someone here might know something.”

Herya’s gaze was witheringly cold. “Here? In Valhalla?”

“Yeah. Well, we sort of ended up here by accident,” Zac said. “I suppose it was a bit of a long shot.”

“Yes,” agreed the Valkyrie. “It was a bit.”

Zac nodded. Suddenly he felt very stupid. “Yeah. Daft idea, really.” He turned and pulled open the door. Roars of laughter rushed past him. “Sorry for wasting your time. Thanks for the water.”

“Wait.”

Zac turned back.

“I said it was a long shot,” the Valkyrie said. “I didn’t say you were wrong.”

NGELO WATCHED THE
door close again and felt his heart sink. The din in the hall was deafening. The smell of stale Viking sweat was all around him. The singing had degenerated into drunken slurring, and flecks of foamy spit felt like scattered showers all along the table.

He was alone in a room filled with godless heathens. OK, technically not godless. They had plenty of gods. Too many, if anything. There was only one God as far as Angelo was concerned, and you wouldn’t catch Him singing about what lurked under a giantess’s skirt.

A tankard of ale was slid in front of him. He gave it a quick prod, nudging it away. A rough, scarred hand swooped and grabbed the tankard and it was downed in one noisy
schlurp
.

The song reached some sort of shambling conclusion. The Vikings all cheered at this, but then Angelo was beginning to suspect they’d cheer at pretty much anything.

“More song!” shouted someone along the table who was apparently too drunk to even have a bash at full sentences. As expected, everyone cheered. Everyone, that is, except Odin.

“No, no, no!” he bellowed. “Enough singing. Let’s dance!”

A roar of delighted agreement made Angelo cover his ears. All around the table, Vikings began to shout out the names of their favourite dances.

“The Filthy Hag!” cried one.

“Too slow,” said Odin. “We need something upbeat.”

“The Shepherd’s Daughter,” suggested another of the Vikings. He stood up and threw his hands above his head. No one was quite sure why.

“And who’s going to be the daughter?” Odin asked. “You?”

The standing Viking thought about this. He lowered his arms and sat down.

“The Deathly Hallows?” volunteered someone else.

Odin shook his head. “No, no. Far too long and complicated. We’d be here all bloody night.” He clicked his fingers and pointed along the table. “You,” he said. “What’s your name again?”

Angelo swallowed nervously. “Um... Angelo.”

“Umangelo, right,” said Odin. “What about you, Umangelo? What dances do you know?”

“I, uh, I don’t really know any.”

Odin banged a fist on the table. Angelo jumped in time with all the dishes and plates. “You must know one dance,” Odin insisted. “Everyone knows one dance. Come on, boy, think.”

Angelo thought. With the eyes of a hundred dead Vikings and their god burrowing into him, he thought harder than he had ever thought in his life until – at last – a single word popped into his head.

He stood up. He cleared his throat. “OK,” he said. “I’ve got one.”

Zac looked at Herya expectantly. “So... what? You do know something?”

“I know a lot of things,” Herya said. She gave a short snort of laughter. “You don’t think this is all I do, do you? Serving drinks to meatheads? I travel. I go on adventures. I see things.”

“Right,” said Zac. “Well, good for you. But what about the book? Do you know about the book?”

“Maybe. Where exactly is it?”

“I already told you, it’s in Hell.”

Herya sighed. “Yes, I know that, but where
exactly
is it? What circle is it on?”

“The tenth.”

“There is no tenth.”

“There is now.”

The Valkyrie’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “They’ve built a new circle in Hell?”

Zac shrugged. “Looks like it.”

“Must be an important book.”

“It is. Hell calls it the
Book of Doom
. It’s also got the potential to be the most powerful weapon in existence. Or so I’m told.”

Before Herya could respond, the door at Zac’s back was yanked open. Angelo staggered out. His face was red and slick with sweat. Odin stood behind him, bending down so he could hold on to the boy’s hips. As Angelo and the Allfather emerged, Zac realised there was a whole train of Vikings following in single file behind them.

“Conga, conga,
cong-a
!” they hollered, as Angelo led the line out into the snow. “Conga, conga,
cong-a
!”

Angelo met Zac’s unblinking stare.
Help me
, he mouthed, then he was off leading the conga in a wide circle round the Great Hall.

“Conga, conga,
cong-a
!” chanted the horde, kicking up clumps of snow on every third word. By the time the end of the line came out through the door, the front was making its way back in again.

Now would be a good time
, said Angelo silently, but Zac just watched as the long snake of Vikings danced their way back inside Valhalla, and closed the door behind them.

Zac and Herya stood in the near silence, listening to the soft
pitter-patter
of the falling snow.

“Well,” said Zac at last. “There’s something you don’t see every day.”

Herya gave a shrug. “You’d be surprised. You want Argus.”

Zac frowned. “Who?”

“Greek demon. He sees everything. If Hell’s had an extension built, he’ll know about it.”

“Where will I find him?”

“You won’t,” Herya said. “You can’t find him.”

“Oh.”

“But I can. I’ll take you to him.”

“Right. Well, thanks – but no, thanks,” said Zac. “I work alone.”

Herya glanced at the door through which the conga had just passed.

“Yeah, except him. I’m sort of stuck with him,” Zac said. “Long story.”

The Valkyrie folded her arms. “Well, that’s the deal on the table. You want to find the book, you need to find Argus. You want to find Argus, you need to bring me.” She shrugged. “Your choice, mortal.”

Back in the hall, the conga line had broken up. Everyone had staggered and stumbled back to their places at the table, clapping Angelo on the shoulder and cheering as they passed his spot on the bench.

“Thank you, Umangelo,” boomed Odin, “for introducing us to this
conga
of yours. It is a gift we shall treasure always here in Valhalla.”

Angelo smiled. Despite his initial reservations, he was beginning to have fun. “No problemo.”

“And now more singing,” the Allfather commanded. He clapped his hands together. “Suggestions?”

“‘My Old Man’s a Viking!’” cried one of the men.

“‘Loki Tried to Poke Me in the—’” began another.

“No, no, no!” Odin shouted, his voice cutting through the din like a sledgehammer through warm butter. “We’ve done all those. We should let Umangelo choose.”

“Um...” said Angelo.

“Go on, give us a song, Umangelo. And by Bragi’s balls, make it a good one.”

“Well, I’m not a very good singer,” Angelo said shyly.

“Come on, Umangelo!” another Viking yelled. “You can do it!”

“Let’s hear it!”

More voices went up, demanding that he perform. Soon the hall was a chorus of “Umangelo! Umangelo! Umangelo!” chanted over and over again, as fists banged repeatedly down on the tabletop.

Slowly, shakily, Angelo got to his feet once more. The crowd went wild as he cleared his throat, then the cheering became an expectant hush as all eyes fixed on the boy in white.

Angelo looked across the sea of horned helmets, then he adjusted his glasses, took a deep breath, and in a high, reedy voice, he began to sing.

“
He’s got the whole world in His hands; He’s got the whole wide world in His hands; He’s got the whole world in His hands; He’s got the whole world in His hands.
”

Along the table, several dozen of the Vikings began to sway back and forth. Odin nodded along in time with Angelo’s warbling.

Encouraged by this, Angelo sang more loudly. He pointed at one of the closest Vikings as he continued:

“
He’s got you and me, brother, in His hands; He’s got you and me, sister, in His hands...
”

The Viking Angelo had pointed to on the word
sister
stopped swaying and muttered unhappily to his neighbour.

“
He’s got all of us together in His hands; He’s got the whole world in His hands
.”

The atmosphere in the room had very subtly begun to change. Only a handful of the Vikings were swaying now, and Odin was no longer nodding along.

But Angelo was just hitting his stride. He drew in a deep breath before launching into the next verse with renewed vigour.

“
He’s got the thunder and the lightning in His hands...
”

As one, every Viking in the hall gave a gasp of shock.

“
He’s got the thunder and the lightning in His hands...
”

The tankard Odin was holding crumpled into a metal ball, spraying ale in all directions.

“
He’s got the thunder and the lightning in His hands...
”

Like a sea monster rising ominously from the deep, Odin stood up. Plates and mugs were blown off the table and scattered across the floor as the Allfather’s voice came like a hurricane.

“That... is... ENOUGH!”

It took Angelo a few seconds to register what Odin had said. He squeaked out a final, “
He’s got the whole world in His...”
before the words died in his throat. He glanced at the angry faces around him, then he coughed gently and sat down.

“Who is this
he
you sing of?” Odin demanded. “Who claims to have the thunder and lightning in his hands?”

Angelo’s mouth had gone dry. It clicked strangely when he spoke. “It’s... it’s... God,” he managed to rasp.

Odin placed the knuckles of his clenched fists on the table and leaned forward. “
Which
god?”

“Um, just... just, you know, God,” Angelo said. “The real one,” he added, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

“
WHAT?
”

“The Christian one!” Angelo yelped. “That’s what I meant!” He looked around desperately. “Not... I didn’t mean...”

“He said you weren’t real, Allfather,” said one of the Vikings at the table.

“He claims Thor does not rule the thunder!” said another. “And he does. He bloody does, I’ve seen him.”

“He rules it like nobody’s business,” agreed yet another.

Angelo suddenly felt very hot. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, all too aware now of the pressure building inside his bladder. He looked up into the faces of the Vikings on either side of him. Their rotten teeth and pockmarked skin grimaced down.

“Seize him!” barked Odin, and Angelo felt vice-like grips clamping down on his shoulders. Odin flipped up his eyepatch. There was another patch beneath it. The eye drawn on to this one was narrow and angry-looking. His real eye blazed with something between fury and madness. “And let us show him just what a
real god
can do.”

“So, what’s your decision, mortal?” asked Herya. “Do you want my help, or don’t you?”

Zac considered the offer. Having one partner was bad enough, but having two would make him part of a trio. He’d never been part of a trio before. He had never wanted to be.

“I don’t know if I’d be able to protect you,” he said.

“Ha!” Herya snorted. “Protect me? I don’t need protecting. We Valkyries are born warriors. I can look after myself. Besides, people know me out there. If anything, I’ll be the one protecting you.”

“Well, I’d hate to put you in that position,” Zac retorted. “So how about you just tell me where Argus is and save us both the bother?”

“Hello?” said Zac’s wrist. It sounded worried. Both he and the Valkyrie looked at it in surprise.

“Hello?” said the voice again. There were other noises in the background too – cheering and yelling and what sounded like the sharpening of a blade. “Zac, are you there?”

“What sorcery is this?” Herya whispered. She tried, but she was unable to hide the shake in her voice.

Zac raised his arm and peered at the watch, just as Angelo spoke again. “I hope you can hear me,” crackled the voice from the tiny in-built speaker, “because I really need your—”

“HEEEEEEEEEELP!

The last word screamed out through the wood of the door leading back into the Great Hall.

“Great,” Zac sighed, pushing the door open. “What now?”

He froze, half in and half out of Valhalla. Behind him, the snow swirled and danced. Before him, Odin raised an ornate battleaxe, as the rabble of Vikings whooped and hollered with delight.

“I could be wrong,” said Herya’s voice in Zac’s ear, “but it looks like your little friend is about to lose his head.”