AFTER THAT, things went downhill fast. In spite of Fenny’s removal, Frigg’s anxiety for Balder had reached a point of near-obsession. If Golden Boy as much as sneezed, her concern went through the roof. She spent her time assessing risk; looking at loose flagstones in case Balder tripped on the parapet; hunting out toxic garden plants, as if Balder were suddenly going to start munching at the flowerbeds; peering suspiciously at items of sporting equipment; knitting vests in case Balder caught cold.

Finally breaking her silence, she set out to canvass everything in the Nine Worlds, seeking out potential threats and extracting from every creature – bear, bee, bramble – an oath sworn on its true name never to harm the Golden Boy.

‘Why?’ I asked her. ‘What’s the point? What do you think’s going to happen to him?’

The Enchantress only shook her head. ‘I don’t know. But there’s a shadow over us. It’s not just Balder’s dreams, or mine, or even the prophecy—’

‘What prophecy?’ I said sharply.

She looked away. ‘Oh, nothing,’ she said.

But when a woman says ‘nothing’, you can always bet there’s something. Mimir’s Head was an Oracle. Had it made a prophecy? And if it had, why had Odin chosen to keep it a secret from me, while telling Frigg all about it?

I remembered the way they had dealt with the Wolf, and decided to step up the scale of my investigation. Clearly, there was more to Odin’s behaviour than a few bad dreams about Balder. Leaving Asgard again so soon would weaken my position still further.

And so I took a more direct approach. Bearing in mind Sigyn’s belief that most problems can be solved through cake, I cut a slice of her fruitcake and went to stand on the Rainbow Bridge.

Hugin and Munin, like all their kind, were fans of sweet and sticky things. A handful of scraps and some patience, I thought, would save me a whole lot of flying around.

Sure enough, I hadn’t been waiting long before the birds came down and perched on the bridge. The largest of the pair – Hugin, I think – strutted up and down expectantly.

‘Where have you been?’ I asked them.

‘Crawk. Crawk,’ said Hugin, flapping his wings and looking at me.

‘Cake,’ said Munin, the smaller bird, with a single white feather on its head. Its speech was clearer than its sibling’s, and its golden eyes were shining.

‘All in good time,’ I told them. ‘Just tell me where you’ve been snooping around.’

‘Ygg. Dra. Sil. Crawk.’ The larger bird jumped onto my shoulder.

‘Crawk. Cake,’ said the smaller bird, and I fed it some of Sigyn’s cake – rather heavy for my taste, but packed with raisins and sugar.

‘What about Yggdrasil?’ I said. ‘Why the sudden interest?’

‘Prophecy,’ said Munin. ‘Crawk.’

‘A prophecy? What did it say?’

‘Cake,’ said Munin stubbornly.