I shrugged. It was, and he knew it.

‘Face it,’ I said. ‘We’ve both been had. Any more fuss and the story will spread right across the Middle Worlds. Let’s go home. If anyone asks, we were never here.’

And so we went back to Asgard as if nothing had happened. We dropped off Thialfi and Roskva at their parents’ house on the way – we’d both had enough of celebrity, applause and expectation by then – and we drove home through the back roads, staying in human Aspect and keeping a low profile.

Neither of us mentioned our trip to the land of the midnight sun, though sometimes, looking at Odin, I wondered if he knew more than he was saying. In spite of that, the story spread all over the Middle Worlds, rivalling even that of Thor’s wedding to Thrym in popularity. Soon everyone knew the tale of how the Trickster had been beaten at his own game. Some laughed; some jeered; some were sympathetic. And some seemed to take my defeat to heart, as if I’d deliberately let them down.

Thor’s reputation did better, I think. After all, intelligence had never been his strong point. But mine never quite recovered. I’d shown myself to be fallible – never a good move for a god – and the grudging respect I’d earned had all too soon been eroded. That was all Thor’s fault, of course. He was the one who’d insisted on picking up Thialfi and Roskva. He was the one who’d decided to go to the land of the midnight sun. And he was the one who’d demanded that we go to Utgard.

But just like that, the bubble had burst. That eerie sense of contentment was gone. My fame had once more become mere notoriety. The snarl of barbed wire was back in my heart, and whenever I looked at my twin sons, I saw their disappointment.

That was what did it. That look in their eyes. And that was why, as time went by, I became increasingly aware of my damaged mouth; my damaged soul; my damaged reputation.

I’d always been a man of words. Now, my words deserted me. I spent too much time in my hawk Aspect; I slept too little; I drank too much mead. And all the time two little words chased each other around my head like Odin’s ravens.

Two words; one goal.

Get Thor.

Lesson 10 Feathers

LESSON 10

Feathers

A bird in the hand will leave you with birdshit on your fingers.

Lokabrenna

OF COURSE, that wouldn’t be easy. Thor was almost indestructible. Even without Mjølnir, his fireproof gauntlets, his belt of strength, he was a force to be reckoned with. Not that I meant to use force; Thor’s besetting weakness was trust, and that was what I meant to exploit.