Free The Gospel of Loki by Joanne M. Harris Page B

the effort.
    I could already see that this third artefact was shaping up to be something unique. What was it? A weapon? I thought it was; shaped like the rune Thurís and snapping with glam and energy. I had to make sure that this time it failed; and so I flew into Brokk’s face and stung him right between the eyes, stung him hard enough to draw blood. He gave a roar of anger and raised a hand to sweep me aside – and for a moment, a second, no more, he loosened his grip on the bellows.
    Sindri cried out; ‘ No! Don’t stop!’
    Brokk redoubled his efforts. But it was too late; the weapon that had taken shape in the forge was already losing its substance. Sindri cursed and started to cast runes at an incredible speed. Could he salvage the delicate work? I was inclined to believe he could not. Even if he managed to save it somehow, Iknew it wouldn’t be perfect.
    I flew back into the passageway, resumed my Aspect (and my clothes). I was waiting when Brokk came out, blood still trickling down his face and something, wrapped in a cloth, in his hands.
    ‘Well?’ I said.
    ‘Well, this is it,’ said Brokk, unwrapping the object.
    It was a warhammer, I saw; heavy and brutal and laden with glam from its nose to the tip of its handle – a handle that was rather short, the only flaw in a weapon that even I could tell was wholly unique; unique and uniquely desirable.
    ‘This is Mjølnir,’ said Brokk, with a snarl. ‘The greatest hammer ever forged. In the hands of the Thunderer it will protect all of Asgard. It will never leave his side; it will always serve him well; and when a show of modesty is required, it will fold up like a pocket knife and—’
    ‘Excuse me,’ I interrupted. ‘A show of modesty? Are we still talking about a hammer?’
    Brokk displayed those awful teeth. ‘Of course Thor loves his wife,’ he said. ‘But when it comes to impressing his friends, a giant weapon is all he needs.’
    I pulled a face. The Maggots rarely manage humour, and when they do, it tends to be coarse.
    ‘We’ll see about that, shall we?’ I said. ‘As for your weapon, it seems to me to be a little – ah, short in the shaft.’
    ‘It’s what you do with it that counts,’ growled Brokk. ‘Now, shall we get going? My brother and I have a wager to win.’
    I led the way to Asgard.

LESSON 10
    Needle and Thread
    Basically, never trust anyone.
    Lokabrenna
    I WAS FEELING QUIETLY CONFIDENT as we arrived in Odin’s hall. Sif was already waiting for me (her head still wrapped in a turban); Thor at her side like a thundercloud. Odin was watching from his throne, his one eye gleaming with anticipation. Heimdall was looking slightly put out – I guess he hadn’t expected me to make good my promise to return. And the goddesses – especially Sigyn, who had been making eyes at me since I arrived – were watching me expectantly, no doubt wondering whether I would manage to save the day once again.
    Brokk, looking (and smelling) all the more repulsive for being in the daylight, stood at my side with his three gifts, with the golden boar Gullin-bursti growling at the end of his chain, and the hammer sticking out of his waistband.
    ‘Who’s this?’ said the Old Man.
    Brokk said his piece and explained about our wager.
    Odin raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, let’s see these gifts of yours,’ he said. ‘We’ll vote on their merit afterwards.’
    I shrugged. ‘I think you’ll find—’ I began.
    ‘Let’s see them, Trickster,’ said Odin.
    I presented my gifts. Brokk offered his. After what seemedlike an unnecessarily lengthy interval, Odin gave his judgement.
    ‘Ivaldi’s sons have done well,’ he said. ‘Their work is quite remarkable.’
    ‘Isn’t it?’ I winked at Sif, who was already wearing her new head of hair. True to Dvalin’s promise, the hair extensions had bonded perfectly with Sif’s own hair, restoring her Goddess Aspect.
    She gave me a grudging look. ‘It’s all right.’
    ‘And what about the