‘In the morning?’ Loki said.
Heimdall bared his golden teeth.
‘We can’t be more than a few miles away,’ said Frey.
‘So why not keep going?’ Loki said.
‘Why don’t we take a vote?’ said Njörd. ‘See what everyone else thinks?’
Loki looked down at the sandy ground and considered his situation. He already had a good idea of what everyone else would say. For six days he’d played his role to full and shameless advantage, forcing them all to dance to his tune, on the understanding that if he failed to get them to World’s End within the time agreed, then Heimdall’s reluctant protection would cease. To wait until dawn would be to admit a defeat of which the consequences, he guessed, might not be pleasant.
But now another possibility suggested itself in the Trickster’s mind. He knelt down to inspect the terrain; scratched out a sample of the soil. The road ahead was sandy, speckled with mica and pieces of quartz. No vegetation grew nearby; nor was there anything to suggest how they could have strayed off the road to World’s End.
Hiding his growing anxiety, Loki stood and addressed the smirking Watchman. ‘Our little agreement stands till dawn. That means officially, I’m still in charge.’
Heimdall raised an eyebrow. ‘And …?’
‘And if you remove my authority,’ said Loki with his crooked smile, ‘then regrettably, all bets would be off, including any – ahem! – penalties for failure to deliver.’
Angie grinned. ‘I said he was smart.’
Loki shrugged. ‘It’s only fair.’
‘Does that mean I can’t hammer him?’ said Thor.
Heimdall scowled. ‘Not yet,’ he said.
‘When can I hammer him, please?’ said Thor.
‘At dawn on the seventh day, of course,’ said Angie, her grin broadening.
‘Which means that you still do as I say,’ Loki said, ‘unless you declare our agreement void. So I say, keep on walking.’
For a moment Heimdall glowered at him. Did Loki have a plan, he thought, or was this just a play for time? He quickly fingered the rune Bjarkán, and was rewarded with a split-second glimpse of Loki’s unguarded colours – a flash of unease; a flare of deceit; a silver plume of bravado – before Loki managed to shield himself, using a form of the rune Yr, though not before Heimdall had concluded that Loki was bluffing, after all.
There was no plan. The Trickster was lost – just as lost as the rest of them. Sometime during the night, he guessed, Loki would probably try to escape – in bird form, or in his Wildfire Aspect – and Heimdall would be waiting for him. The prospect was so enjoyable that he actually smiled, showing his golden teeth to full advantage as he said: ‘All right. You win.’
‘I win?’ said Loki, slightly nonplussed.
‘Yes. We’re in your hands. At least, until tomorrow.’
Loki was looking uneasy now. ‘You’re sure? I mean, we could all use some sleep …’
‘No, I wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Heimdall in his sweetest voice. ‘I mean, you’ve led us all this far – it’s only fair that we allow you to finish what you started. Unless you want to admit you’re lost …’
‘I know exactly where we are.’
‘Terrific. There’s no problem, then.’
Loki smiled between clenched teeth. His mind was racing furiously. He’d managed to gain a little time, though to what advantage he did not know. On the plus side, he had until dawn. On the other hand, if he was right, then that might be a long time coming.
Alone – except for Sigyn, of course – Loki considered his options. Any attempt at escape, he assumed, would result in swift retribution. Still, if his suspicions were correct, then they might have strayed so far from their path that escape was no longer on the cards. For Loki had recognized that road – its sandy soil, its fugitive gleam, the chill that covered everything.
‘Why me?’ howled the Trickster, burying his face in his hands. ‘Why do these things always happen to me?’
‘There, there,’ Sigyn said, putting a gentle hand on his head, and it was a measure of Loki’s distress that in that moment of anguish, even the sympathy of the most annoying woman in the Nine Worlds was not altogether unwelcome. Because if he was right, he told himself, then he did know where they were heading. Somehow, on the way to World’s End, their path had been diverted. It led to a place where dawn never broke, a road on which they might travel for years without ever reaching anywhere.
This wasn’t the road to World’s End at all.
This was the road to Hel.
AFTER LEAVING ST Sepulchre’s Square, Maddy made for the Water Rats. There she found Jormungand under the pier, looking even more sluggish than usual. The Serpent Aspect he seemed to prefer was rather less conspicuous there, plus he was able to indulge his taste for shellfish without attracting undue attention.
Maddy assumed from his bearing that he had been out hunting seals all day, which explained his bloated appearance and apparent disinclination to do anything but gape and loll (and vent an occasional fishy belch).
There was no point, Maddy knew, in trying to appeal to his sense of shame. Jorgi had no work ethic to speak of, and if he didn’t want to move, there wasn’t much she could do to force him. However, she could try.
‘Jorgi, I need your help,’ she began.
Jorgi gave a monumental belch that shook the entire boardwalk.
Maddy squared her shoulders. ‘Seriously, Jorgi,’ she said. ‘I really, really need your help.’
Jorgi’s display of indifference was almost overwhelming.
‘Come on,’ said Maddy bracingly. ‘You’re the Black Horse of Treachery, for gods’ sakes. You’re one of the harbingers of the Last Days. You can’t just hide under the pier and eat yourself silly all the time …’
Jorgi gave a loathsome shrug.
‘Please,’ said Maddy. ‘We have to find the General. For that, we have to rescue Perth. And Perth is in the roundhouse. Which means I need your help to get in. Because obviously I’m not just going to march in there and demand his release, am I? Whereas if you take me through Dream – Jorgi, are you listening?’
Jorgi opened one eye.
‘That’s better. I promise you that when we’re done, you can have all the fish you want. But now we have to look for Perth. Got that?’
Jorgi resumed his Black Horse Aspect, looking even more disreputable than ever. He smelled quite strongly of fish too, although compared to his Serpent Aspect he was positively fragrant. His long black mane was greasy – probably with seal blubber, Maddy thought – but he seemed docile enough as they set off at a slow trot towards the city roundhouse.
This was situated some ten blocks away from St Sepulchre’s Square, in a complex known as the Armouries. The Order had used it as a training centre for young prentices, away from the distractions of the University. Now it was a prison, a barracks, a weapons store and a place of execution.
It was also the site of a passageway that led from under the Armouries to the Magisterial Quad, which ran alongside the University Library. Even in the Order’s day, very few people had known about this; now only one person knew – the person responsible for the scene that faced Maddy and Jorgi as they approached.
Maddy saw the runelight even before she saw the fire. Her sister’s signature in the sky was like a giant’s handwriting – huge, unformed, unmistakable. It lit the sky above the Armouries like a second sunset – astonishing splashes of runelight that lingered over the rooftops, staining the buildings ochre and red, blotting out the stars.
There had been a battle here, Maddy knew; and recently. In the distance, a smell of smoke and the dark-red glow of a building on fire. She urged Jorgi on through the narrow streets until she reached the heart of the Armouries – the city roundhouse on Capital Square, where she stopped to take in a scene of purest carnage.
The roundhouse was gone. Two walls still stood, but the building itself had been torn apart. Maddy had heard of earthquakes – usually in the
far North – that had had the same effect as this: deep fissures in the earth, buildings reduced to piles of stone. Timbers scattered like jackstraws; fire; the air still thick with dust. Whatever had happened, she told herself, must have been only hours ago: the fires were under control now, the scene still ringed with lawmen.
One saw her coming. ‘Keep clear,’ he said. ‘Some of these buildings may collapse.’
‘What happened?’ said Maddy.
The lawman shrugged. ‘We don’t know. Maybe an earthquake.’
He did not mention runelight, or glam, which Maddy found unusual; most of these lawmen had served the Order at one time or another, and should be more than familiar with the signs of magic. Maddy took this to mean that the man was deliberately avoiding telling her the truth – and why should he? She was nobody. Just a girl from the Northlands.
Still, she had to know about Perth. Had he been in the roundhouse when the attack had taken place? And if so, how could he have survived? Gods, the place was rubble. All she could hope was that he had been in transit to some other location at the time, or at least that his end had been quick.
‘Did anyone escape?’ she asked. ‘Did any of the prisoners …?’
But the lawman seemed not to be listening. Jorgi had caught his attention. The smell, perhaps; or the fishy eyes; or the unappealing way he moved. Maddy suddenly realized that this was no place to be noticed. There might still be folk here who recognized glamours at work; an inner core of lawmen who still remembered the Order.
‘That’s a very unusual horse.’ The lawman’s voice was cool and bland.
‘Yes. He belongs to a relative.’
‘What is it, some kind of Outlands breed?’
Maddy nodded. ‘I think so.’ She started to bring the Horse round – but the lawman’s hand shot out suddenly and grabbed hold of Jorgi’s bridle.
‘I think you’d better come with me, miss,’ he said, and that was when Maddy knew that she wasn’t just going to slip away: there was a look on the lawman’s face that told her all she needed to know.
‘Is there a problem?’ she said, fingering Isa behind her back.
‘We’ve had reports of a fugitive, miss. A young lady fitting your description, and riding a most unusual horse. We have reason to believe that this young lady may have been responsible for – er – damage to city property.’
‘Really?’ said Maddy. ‘How terrible.’
She glanced up to see three more lawmen making their way towards her. Another moment and she would be surrounded. She knew she ought to be gone. But Maddy was torn between the instinct to flee and the need to know more:
‘What did she do?’
‘You really don’t know?’ said the lawman. He was a man of middle years, tall and broad-shouldered in his uniform. His greying hair was neatly tied back. His eyes were a cold and piercing blue.
He looks like an Examiner.
Of course, that wasn’t possible, Maddy told herself at once. The Examiners were all gone. But the Order did have guards, she thought; a network of spies and enforcers. Who knew how many were still left? Who knew what secrets they possessed?
‘It was a red horse,’ the lawman said (though Maddy no longer really believed that this man was a lawman). ‘A red horse, and now a black—’
His hand fastened around Maddy’s wrist. His eyes locked with hers. ‘I know you,’ he said. ‘There’s something about you. Something uncanny. Just like that fellow I brought in today. The one who wouldn’t give me his name …’
Maddy suddenly realized that he was trying to charm her. Not with the Word, but with the sheer force of his personality. Behind her, the three other lawmen were barely a dozen feet away. In a moment they would be on her.
She summoned Isa, the Icy One, and flung it at the lawman. At once, the man was frozen in place. His comrades held back, startled, and in the moment it took them to react, Maddy had grabbed Jorgi’s bridle, and, kicking her heels into his sides, she cried: ‘Jorgi! Get us out of here!’
There followed a moment’s confusion. Shadows blurred; runelight flashed; the air was suddenly filled with dust. Darkness fell – a darkness so dense that Maddy could almost touch it. It felt powdery, like soot; it even smelled like stale smoke.
Jorgi had once more changed Aspect to that of the World Serpent. Maddy could feel his mane in her hands; it was like holding onto a fringe of dead squid.
Then he stopped, and Maddy slid from the Serpent’s back onto cold stone.
‘Where is this? Dream?’
She was still blind. Casting Sól, she found herself in a brick-lined passageway, feathered with cobwebs, soft with dust.
‘Haven’t we been here before?’
Maddy’s voice echoed against the stone, and she began to understand. This wasn’t Dream. They were underground. Jorgi must have taken them underneath the city, just as he had the day they arrived. This was one of the passageways that led to the University, unused since the end of the Order, cocooned in the dust of centuries.
‘Well done, Jorgi!’
She realized that they were under the Armouries. A section of the passageway had partially collapsed ahead of them, spilling stone and bricks and rubble into the vault below. And now, looking through the rune Bjarkán, Maddy saw something that made her cry out. A signature, a recent one – faint but recognizable – running alongside the pile of rocks and leading into the darkness.
Perth?
And wasn’t there something else too: a silvery trace of the rune Ác that cut through the shadows like a blade, and with it, a scrawl of kingfisher-blue that could only belong to the General?
So that was how Maggie had done it, she thought. First through Dream, on Sleipnir, and then through the underground labyrinth to strike where least expected.
‘Jorgi, I could kiss you! If only you didn’t smell so bad.’
Jorgi belched and expanded his Aspect to fill the whole of the passageway. Now he looked like a giant slug – slimy and very pleased with himself.
‘Can you take me where it leads?’ Maddy indicated the trail.
Jorgi shrugged again and began to move through the passageway. Maddy held on as hard as she could; pressing herself into Jorgi’s side as he oozed past various obstacles. Their progress was slow and slimy, but the World Serpent was agile and surprisingly good at squeezing through small spaces. Before long they had left the Armouries, and were working their way down a tunnel that was largely free of signatures – except for that triple trail that led into the darkness.
Now Maddy followed the trail on foot. Perth’s glam was very faint. The traces that overlaid it were dazzling in comparison, the spackle of runelight against the walls like the sign of some violent eruption. There must have been a fight, she thought. But who had been the victor?
She found Perth a hundred yards further down, in a place where the roof had partly collapsed, curled up, almost hidden beneath a pile of rubble and dust; for a moment Maddy was sure he was dead.
She gave a cry and started to clear the debris; under it, her friend lay still. His glam was so low she could barely see it, even through the rune Bjarkán. Barely conscious; smothered in dust; torn and bruised and bleeding. And yet he was breathing; he was alive.
Perth coughed. ‘Water. Please.’
Quickly Maddy found a place where water had seeped through the ceiling. It looked clean; she collected some between her cupped hands and made him drink. It seemed to revive him; he coughed again and sat up with an effort.
‘What is it that the slave dreams?’
Maddy frowned at him, puzzled. ‘What?’
‘It’s an old riddle we used to tell, when I was in the galleys. What is it that the slave dreams? The slave dreams of being master. I thought of it just a moment ago, for the first time in years and years.’ He put a hand to his head. ‘It hurts. I must have hit it on something.’
‘No kidding,’ Maddy said. ‘What happened? You look terrible.’
‘There was an altercation.’ Perth looked up at
Maddy and grinned. ‘One minute I was in my cell, trying to get some much-needed rest, then boom! I tell you, if I’d known it was going to be so much trouble, I wouldn’t have stolen that Head for the Worlds.’
Maddy was trembling with relief. ‘I should have told you the truth,’ she said. ‘You could have been killed. If you had …’
Perth shrugged. ‘If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.’
Maddy felt her heart clench. ‘I had a friend who used to say that.’
‘Really? What happened?’
She shook her head. ‘Never mind. It’s over now. And if my sister has the Head …’
Perth looked surprised. ‘But she hasn’t,’ he said.
Maddy stared at him. ‘What?’
He grinned. ‘I told you. There was an altercation. And I have to say that I’m disappointed by your assumption that, in a fight between me and a little girl, the little girl would always win …’
Maddy’s head was spinning. ‘Please, Perth. For gods’ sakes, stop talking!’
Perth assumed an injured look.
‘You don’t mean you’ve still got it?’ she said.
Once more Perth grinned. Reaching behind him into the pile of rubble, he pulled out a piece of volcanic rock that Maddy remembered only too well. She’d last seen it on the plains of Hel, when Sugar had thrown it into Dream …
For a moment her heart was too full to speak. She reached out to take the stone Head. Was it really the General? Could he tell her what to do to avert the coming Apocalypse?
With trembling hands, she took it. Then, summoning the rune Bjarkán, she looked into its stony heart.
‘Odin? One-Eye? Are you there?’
No reply. Not a trace of glam.
‘It’s Maddy. Odin, are you there?’
Still there came no answering gleam.
She tried again, with all her glam, but Bjarkán revealed no sign of life. No cantrips would awaken it; Maddy grew hoarse from trying.
At last, when she had tried every rune, every cantrip she had learned, Maddy finally understood. The Head was simply an empty husk. Not even the faintest glimmer remained. The rock was a rock, and nothing more.