The Book of Doom - By Barry Hutchison Page 0,20

whatever you do don’t peek up her dress...”

Zac glanced at the Allfather. Clearly he knew nothing about the book, and was going to be no help whatsoever. He turned to the Valkyrie.

“Can I talk to you?” Zac asked.

“You’re talking to me already. Mission accomplished,” Herya said. She moved to walk away, but Zac stood and blocked her path.

“I meant can I ask you some questions?”

Herya stuck out a hip and placed a hand against it. “Do I look like I have time to answer them?”

“Get a shift on, Valkyrie!” shouted someone along the table. The rest of the crowd jeered in agreement, then got stuck into the sing-song again.

“You’re standing between a horde of dead Vikings and their booze,” Herya said. “You want my advice? Move.”

Reluctantly, Zac stepped aside. “Maybe later, then.”

Herya flashed her false smile. “Keep dreaming, mortal.” Her leather outfit creaked softly as she moved along the table, dispensing drinks as she went.

Zac sat back down and leaned his elbows on the table, watching the Valkyrie go. She moved confidently through the crowd, taking their abuse with that smile fixed in place.

“Oh, a giantess, her face is a mess, she’s got a big arse and a hairy chest...”

Further along the table, Angelo was sandwiched between two bear-like Vikings. They had their arms round him and were swaying him back and forth in time with their singing. Angelo’s eyes were wide with horror. They darted anxiously left and right, before he realised Zac was watching him.

Help me, Angelo mouthed silently.

Not now, Zac mouthed back. Don’t panic.

Don’t panic? Don’t panic? I’m being manhandled by two dead Vikings. What do you mean, don’t panic? mimed Angelo frantically, but Zac didn’t catch a word of it, and replied with a double thumbs up.

A sudden crash broke up the singing just long enough for a jeer to go round the room. Zac looked in the direction of the sound and saw a particularly hairy Viking pulling Herya by the arm.

“Stupid Valkyrie,” the man snarled. “Spill ale on me, will you?”

Herya’s tray was on the floor. The Viking who held her had an upturned tankard hooked on to one of the horns of his helmet. The Valkyrie pulled at her arm, but the man’s grip was proving difficult to break.

Zac turned to Odin. “I think Herya’s got a problem customer,” he said.

Odin grunted. “Huh? Oh, right. Not to worry.”

Zac watched the Allfather knock back another tankard of ale, then burp loudly.

“Let go, Jurgen,” Herya said. “It was an accident.”

Jurgen’s free hand clenched into a fist the size of a boulder. “Well, now it’s time for you to have a little accident of your own, Valkyrie.”

“I really think she’s in trouble,” Zac said.

“Well deserved, no doubt,” Odin said. “Don’t worry about it, lad. Valkyries heal quickly.”

The Allfather scooped up another tankard and clanked it against one held by the Viking next to him. They both cheered drunkenly.

Zac looked back to Herya. Jurgen was towering over her, his clenched fist raised. The other Vikings were all chattering and laughing, paying the Valkyrie no attention whatsoever. The girl was on her own.

“I’m more or less dead,” Zac shrugged. He climbed on to the table. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

He began to advance, slowly and deliberately, along the table. “Hey, Jurgen!” he yelled. Jurgen and a few of the other nearby Vikings looked up. “She said it was an accident. Let her go.”

Jurgen’s eyes narrowed. Herya’s widened. Down at the far end of the room, Angelo’s face went pale. Nobody quite knew how to react as Zac continued along the tabletop.

“You dare tell me what to do?” Jurgen growled.

“I’m not telling you. I’m asking you nicely,” said Zac as he arrived next to them. Even standing on the table, Zac was barely the same height as Jurgen. The Viking’s ginger beard seemed to bristle with agitation. “Please. Pretty please with sugar on top. Let her go.”

The laughter and cheering had choked off into silence, and now you could’ve heard a pin drop in Valhalla. All eyes were on Jurgen, waiting to see what he would do next. Zac could feel the tension in the air. Any moment now, the crowd could turn ugly. Or uglier, at least.

“I could rip you in two, boy,” Jurgen said.

Zac held his gaze. “You could try.”

A low Ooooh went round the table. Jurgen’s eyes darted to the other Vikings around him.

“Or you could be the bigger man and let her go, then get back to enjoying the party,” Zac suggested.

Jurgen ground his