‘She has a point. Have you got my order in?’

‘Oh yes.’ Otto ducked behind the counter and fumbled for a moment. There was the sound of books tumbling onto the floor. ‘Just a minute …’ Otto called. Fabel smiled. Good old Otto: never changes.

Otto reappeared dramatically and thumped a block of books onto the counter. ‘Here we are!’ He tore a yellow order slip from under an elastic band wrapped around the volumes. ‘All English authors … all in their original English versions.’ Otto looked across to Fabel. ‘A little light reading, huh? How could I forget you were such an Anglophile … your mother’s English of course, isn’t she?’

‘Scottish …’ Fabel corrected him.

‘That explains it!’ Otto slapped his forehead in a dramatic gesture.

‘What?’

‘Why you never pay for lunch!’

Fabel laughed. ‘That’s not because I’m half Scottish … it’s because I’m a Frisian. Anyway, it’s your turn to pay. I paid last time.’

‘Such a fine mind,’ mused Otto, ‘such a lousy memory … Oh, by the way, I’ve got a present for you.’ More fumbling beneath the counter. He added a reference book to the pile. ‘Someone from the university ordered it and never collected it. It’s a dictionary of British surnames. I thought what kind of dull no-life would take this off my hands … and I thought of you.’

‘Thanks, Otto … I think! What do I owe you?’

‘Like I said, it’s a gift. Enjoy!’

Fabel thanked Otto again. ‘Otto, do you have anything on old Norse religion?’

‘Sure. Believe it or not there is quite a demand.’

‘Really?’ Fabel said disbelievingly.

‘Yep. Odinists mainly.’

‘Odinists? You mean people still practise this religion?’ A faint electric current ran across Fabel’s skin.

‘Asatru … I think they call it. Or just Odinism. Harmless lot, I suppose. Just a bit sad, really.’

‘I had no idea,’ said Fabel. ‘You say you get many in here?’

‘The odd one or two. And I do mean odd. Although there’s one guy who has been in once or twice who doesn’t have the oddball or hippy look.’

Someone increased the current across Fabel’s skin. ‘When was the last time he was in?’

Otto laughed. ‘Am I being interrogated by the police?’

‘Please Otto, it could be important.’

Otto recognised the seriousness on his friend’s face. ‘About a month ago, I think. He may have been in since, but I haven’t served him.’

‘What did he buy?’

Otto’s acre of forehead creased in concentration. Fabel knew that, for all Otto’s outward disorder, his mind was a supercomputer of book titles, authors and publishers. The frown evaporated, the data-processing was complete.

‘I’ll show you. We have another copy in stock.’

Fabel followed Otto across to the New Age and Occult section of the store. Otto slipped a thick volume from the shelf and handed it to Fabel. It was titled Runecast: Rites and Rituals of the Viking. It was clearly no academic tome, but intended for a more general audience. Fabel opened the book at the back and scanned down the index. There was an entry for Blood Eagle. A glance through the text showed a page and a half was devoted to the ritual.