‘What are you doing, my dear?’ I said.

Frigg explained her mission.

‘You’re naming and taming everything? That’s a lot of names,’ I said. ‘Still, I suppose there are lots of things that couldn’t possibly be a threat. That little wilted thing, for instance . . .’ I pointed at the mistletoe. ‘Now how that could ever harm anyone? I’m surprised it even has a name.’ And I shuffled past with a little smile, leaving Frigg with her mistletoe shoot, watching me with a frown between her eyes.

At that moment a snake slithered out from behind a spill of scree. Frigg saw it and dropped the mistletoe, knowing the snake for a venomous one, and uttered the words of the cantrip:

‘I name thee Adder, daughter of dust . . .’

And that, folks, was what I was waiting for; the tiny mistake that would give me what I needed. I waited until Frigg’s back was turned, then shifted Aspect once again and flew back to Asgard, carrying the sprig of mistletoe in my claws. I couldn’t vouch for Balder, but if things went according to plan, that small and insignificant plant might just have bought me a pass out of Hel.

In private, I studied the mistletoe. It didn’t look much. But with a little work, it might make a suitable weapon. I dried the piece of mistletoe and strengthened it with fire. No runes; not enough to incriminate me with traces of a signature, but enough to make a sharpened point. Then I fixed it to a dart, and waited for a suitable time.

It was several months more before Frigg returned from her journey around the Worlds. During that time she had named and tamed everything she had encountered: insects; metals; animals; birds; stones and goblins and demons and trolls. The Ice Folk had given her their pledge, and the Rock Folk, and the Folk of the Middle Worlds. It was a testament to the peculiar affection that everyone had for Golden Boy that even our enemies gave their word that no harm would come to him on their watch.

Remained the gods themselves. Of course, Frigg only approached Yours Truly. The rest were beyond suspicion, as she made only too clear to me, whilst trying in vain to earn my goodwill.

‘Why should I swear?’ I told her. ‘Thor hasn’t had to swear an oath.’

‘Thor is Balder’s brother,’ said Frigg.

‘So? And he’s not dangerous?’

Frigg sighed. ‘I don’t think he’s a threat.’

‘And I am? That hurts me, Enchantress. You’re saying you don’t trust me.’

The Enchantress looked sympathetic. ‘We’d trust you a lot more, Loki, if you gave us a proof of goodwill. An oath of allegiance to Balder, for example.’