that either. All we have to believe with is our senses: the tools we use to perceive the world, our sight, our touch, our memory. If they lie to us, then nothing can be trusted. And even if we do not believe, then still we cannot travel in any other way than the road our senses show us; and we must walk that road to the end.
Then the fire burned out, and there was darkness in Valaskjalf, Odin’s Hall.
“Now what?” whispered Shadow.
“Now we go back to the Carousel room,” muttered Mr. Nancy, “and old One-Eye buys us all dinner, greases some palms, kisses some babies, and no one says the G-word any more.”
“G-word?”
“Gods. What were you doin’ the day they handed out brains, boy, anyway?”
“Someone was telling a story about stealing a tiger’s balls, and I had to stop and find out how it ended.”
Mr. Nancy chuckled.
“But nothing was resolved. Nobody agreed to anything.”
“He’s working them slowly. He’ll land ’em one at a time. You’ll see. They’ll come around in the end.”
Shadow could feel that a wind was coming up from somewhere, stirring his hair, touching his face, pulling at him.
They were standing in the room of the biggest Carousel in the world, listening to “The Emperor Waltz.”
There was a group of people, tourists by the look of them, talking with Wednesday over at the other side of the room, by the wall covered with all the wooden carousel horses: as many people as there had been shadowy figures in Wednesday’s Hall. “Through here,” boomed Wednesday, and he led them through the only exit, formed to look like the gaping mouth of a huge monster, its sharp teeth ready to rend them all to slivers. He moved among them like a politician, cajoling, encouraging, smiling, gently disagreeing, pacifying.
“Did that happen?” asked Shadow.
“Did what happen, shit-for-brains?” asked Mr. Nancy.
“The hall. The fire. Tiger balls. Riding the Carousel.”
“Heck, nobody’s allowed to ride the Carousel. Didn’t you see the signs? Now hush.”
The monster’s mouth led to the Organ Room, which puzzled Shadow—hadn’t they already come through that way? It was no less strange the second time. Wednesday led them all up some stairs, past life-sized models of the four horsemen of the apocalypse hanging from the ceiling, and they followed the signs to an early exit.
Shadow and Nancy brought up the rear. And then they were out of the House on the Rock, walking past the gift store and heading back into the parking lot.
“Pity we had to leave before the end,” said Mr. Nancy. “I was kind of hoping to see the biggest artificial orchestra in the whole world.”
“I’ve seen it,” said Czernobog. “It’s not so much.”
The restaurant was a big and barn-like structure, ten minutes up the road. Wednesday had told each of his guests that tonight’s dinner was on him, and had organized rides to the restaurant for any of them that didn’t have their own transportation.
Shadow wondered how they had gotten to the House on the Rock without their own transportation, and how they were going to get away again, but he said nothing. It seemed the smartest thing to say.
Shadow had a carful of Wednesday’s guests to ferry to the restaurant: the woman in the red sari sat in the front seat beside him. There were two men in the back seat: a peculiar-looking young man whose name Shadow had not properly caught, but thought might be Elvis, and another man, in a dark suit, who Shadow could not remember.
He had stood beside the man as he got into the car, had opened and closed the door for him, and was unable to remember anything about him. He turned around in the driver’s seat and looked at him, carefully noting his face, his hair, his clothes, making certain he would know him if he met him again, and turned back to start the car, to find that the man had slipped from his mind. An impression of wealth was left behind, but nothing more.
I’m tired, thought Shadow. He glanced to his right and snuck a glance at the Indian woman. He noted the tiny silver necklace of skulls that circled her neck, her charm bracelet of heads and hands that jangled, like tiny bells, when she moved. There was a dark blue jewel on her forehead. She smelled of spices, of cardamom and nutmeg and flowers. Her hair was pepper-and-salt, and she smiled when she saw him look at her.