Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest move to try and gatecrash the party. But I’d been through some difficult times; the insomnia, Sigyn’s persistence, my visit to Hel, the prophecy – not to mention Balder’s death, that of his wife and the brutal killing of Hoder. Try to sympathize when I say I went a little crazy.

I opened the door into Aegir’s hall and addressed the merry gathering:

‘What, celebrating without me? Come on, Odin, let’s have a drink.’

Bragi, who had been playing his lute, said: ‘I think you’ve already had a few. A few too many, if you ask me.’

‘But I don’t ask you,’ I said. ‘I’m asking my brother Odin. Odin, who swore a blood oath that he would never pour himself a drink without making certain that I had one, too. Still, promises are like piecrust, eh? Always made to be broken. And speaking of pies . . .’ I helped myself to a slice of something from someone’s plate. ‘Not bad,’ I said, with my mouth full. ‘Maybe a little greasy.’

Odin gave me his impassive stare. ‘Come in, Loki. You’re welcome.’

‘Welcome? I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘Face it, I’m as welcome here as a turd in a hot tub. Which is fine, because I hate you all. Especially you,’ I addressed Bragi, ‘because, apart from having the bad taste to hold a party without me, you’re a terrible poet, a worse instrumentalist, and you couldn’t sing in tune if the Worlds depended on it.’

Bragi looked as if he were ready to hit me with the lute. I told him to go ahead, it would probably do less harm to me than if he tried to play it. And then I turned on the others, who were watching me, open-mouthed, probably wondering what in Hel had happened to the silver-tongued Trickster they thought they knew.

Idun tried to take my hand. ‘What’s wrong?’

I started to laugh. ‘What’s wrong?’ I said. ‘How very sweet of you to ask. Sweet or stupid, anyway. With you, there’s not much of a difference.’

Now Freyja stepped forward. ‘Stop it!’ she said. ‘You’re being offensive. Thor, can’t you stop him?’