Free The Book of Doom by Barry Hutchison Page A

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