The Book of Doom - By Barry Hutchison Page 0,24

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.”

“HAT’S GOING ON? What are you doing?” Zac demanded, stepping into the hall.

Only Odin’s eye moved. “Ah, young Zac. You are just in time.”

Zac looked at the axe, then down at the spot in front of the Allfather. Angelo was on his knees, his arms folded up his back by a brawny Viking with a thick black beard.

Tears were trickling down Angelo’s cheeks and dripping on to the cobbled floor. He was muttering incoherently below his breath, his body trembling with fear.

“Just in time for what?” asked Zac, stalling for time.

Odin’s laugh was a boom of delight. “I shall give ye three guesses,” he grinned. “And the first two don’t count.”

“Look, I know he can be irritating,” Zac said. “Really incredibly irritating, and I don’t know what he’s done to upset you, but don’t you think beheading him’s a bit... harsh? Can’t we talk about this?”

He flicked his gaze down to Angelo. The boy’s whole body was shaking uncontrollably now. The Viking holding him seemed to struggle for a moment. He grimaced as he forced the arms further up Angelo’s back.

“Do not worry, young Zac,” the Allfather said. “This is Valhalla. No Viking can ever truly die in Valhalla. He’ll be up and about again in no time.”

Zac heard Herya’s voice in his ear once again. “He’s not a Viking.”

“Yes, thank you, I know that,” Zac hissed. He took another step closer to the group. Behind Odin, the rest of the dead Viking horde watched on, barely able to contain their excitement. “He doesn’t belong here, though,” Zac said. “He’s not a Viking. Cut his head off and it won’t grow back. You’ll kill him.”

“Really?” asked Odin. For a moment, he seemed to have second thoughts, then his face lit up in a broad grin. “Ah well, not to worry!”

The Allfather’s muscles twitched and the axe began to swing. With a cry of panic, Angelo twisted and the Viking holding him was pulled into the weapon’s path. The blade cut the unlucky Norseman across the shoulder, splitting him from neck to ribcage.

The Viking looked down at his arm as it hit the flagstone floor with a damp splat. A fountain of blood erupted from a vein in his neck. “Oh... come on,” he tutted.

“Whoops,” said Odin. “Sorry about that.”

“No, no. My fault, Allfather, my fault,” said the Viking, smiling apologetically. He released what was left of his grip on Angelo and picked up his fallen arm. His blood continued to pump out in a wide arc. “Permission to fall unconscious, sir.”

Odin nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course. Do whatever you must, man.”

“Hail, Odin, most gracious giver of—” the Viking began. And then he blacked out on to the floor.

The Allfather turned to the other Vikings and flashed a silly me face. Then his expression darkened and he stabbed a finger towards Angelo. “Hold him!” he bellowed. “He will pay for what I just did to... um... what’s-his-face.”

Angelo twisted on to his back. He kicked out, scuttling across the floor as half a dozen Vikings moved to grab him. “Stop it, stop it,” he wailed. “Leave me alone, you... you... big bullies!”

Zac put himself between the boy and the men in the horned helmets. “I can’t let you do that,” he said. “I need him. And his