The Book of Doom - By Barry Hutchison Page 0,21

rotten teeth together. “Very well,” he said at last. His hand opened and Herya pulled free. “She is free to go.”

“Thank you,” said Zac.

The big Viking cracked his knuckles. “I’ll make you pay for her stupidity instead.”

“Hey!”

The voice from the end of the table was shrill and high-pitched. All eyes turned to Angelo, still sandwiched between the two Vikings. The angel swallowed nervously.

“Let’s do that song again. What was it?” He began to clap out of time. “A giantess... she, um, wears a vest...?”

A roar of approval went round the room and the tension immediately lifted. Muscular arms came up and pulled Jurgen down into a happy bear hug, and soon he was singing along with the rest of them, his anger all but forgotten.

Zac jumped from the table and landed beside Herya. The Valkyrie eyed him suspiciously. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Interfere,” Herya said. “I could have handled him myself.”

“I’m sure you could have,” Zac conceded.

“Why did you help me? What do you want?”

“Nothing, really,” Zac said. “Although now you’re free, maybe I could ask you those questions? It’ll only take a few minutes.”

For a long time she said nothing. Eventually she gave a sigh. “Fine. You’ve got two.”

“Great. Is there somewhere we can go that’s less –” Zac gestured around at the Viking horde – “that?”

“Outside,” Herya said, and she began walking in the direction of the door. Zac followed close behind her.

Two minutes, he mouthed as they passed Angelo.

Angelo’s lips moved in reply. Hurry up. These two are squashing me. And they smell. And I’m pretty sure I need to go to the toilet again.

But Zac once again had absolutely no idea what the angel was trying to say. He gave another thumbs up, then hurried outside after the Valkyrie.

The door closed shut and the racket within was muted just a little. Herya turned to face Zac, her hands on her hips. “Two minutes,” she said. “Starting now.”

“I’m looking for a book,” Zac began, not wasting any time. “You... um... you know what a book is, right?”

“Yes,” she said, and the temperature seemed to plummet a few degrees further. “I know what a book is.”

“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