So now you’ll see why I didn’t do what you might have expected. For all my resentment of the Old Man, he was still my protector. Without him, I would have been friendless, cast out of Asgard quicker than leftovers that are starting to stink. No, I needed Odin on my side. I needed him to be grateful. And how better to achieve all this than by saving his life at the risk of my own? If I’d known the power of Hreidmar’s runelore I might not have entered his den quite so fast. But I knew his reputation as well as his appetite for gold, and I’d been certain that enough of it would cover Otter’s unfortunate death.

Yes. I’ll admit it. I planned the whole thing. I needed Odin’s gratitude. And, for all his intelligence, he was so predictable – his affection for the Folk, his love for those little valleys and woods. Everyone has a weakness, and his was this sentimentality; it didn’t take much for Yours Truly to guide him to the appointed spot, while letting him think it had been his idea.

The rest had been easy. A handful of stones can bring down more than you might think. An otter, a man – even a citadel can fall under a well-aimed stone. All I had to do now was find enough red gold to ransom my friends, and I too would be redeemed.

So – where was I going to find the gold?

At first, I considered World Below. The Tunnel Folk could always supply plentiful quantities of gold of all varieties, but this time I sensed that Ivaldi and Sons might not prove altogether willing. Instead I made for the One Sea, where Aegir, the storm god, and Ran, his wife, had their cavern under the waves.

I arrived in Aegir’s hall dripping and naked. Not that they cared; the Undersea was hardly big on etiquette. Ran was the goddess of the drowned, and she and Aegir ruled the Deeps, while Njörd, the Man of the Sea, ruled the waves and kept them safe for fishermen.

Aegir’s hall was cavernous, lit by phosphorescence; dripping with water and studded with undersea gems and pearly shells. On a throne made out of a single shell, Ran sat, pale as sea-foam, watching me with oyster eyes.

I went up to her throne and bowed.

‘The General’s in trouble,’ I said. ‘I have a plan, but I need your help. Please, will you lend me your drowning-net?’

The net was Ran’s prize possession. Unbreakable and stitched through with glam, she used it to drag the ocean floor, to turn the tides and drown sailors who ventured too far into her realm. She handed it over – reluctantly.

‘What are you fishing for?’

‘Gold,’ I said.