‘This is Loki,’ the Old Man announced. ‘He’s going to be one of the family, so let’s all make him welcome, and no picking on him because of his unfortunate parentage.’

‘What unfortunate parentage?’ said Frey, the leader of the Vanir.

I gave them all a little wave and told them I was from Chaos.

A second later I was flat on my back, with two dozen swords jabbing at the parts of me I’ve always preferred to keep intact.

‘Ouch!’ Unlike the rest of my newly acquired physical sensations, the pain thing wasn’t getting any more fun. I considered the possibility that this might be some kind of an initiation ceremony, more of a game than anything else. Then I looked at those faces again; the narrowed eyes; the bared teeth . . .

No doubt about it, I told myself. These bastards really don’t like me.

‘You brought a demon into Asgard?’ said Týr, the General’s war chief. ‘Are you out of your mind? He’s a spy. Probably an assassin, as well. I say slit the little rat’s throat.’

Odin gave him a quelling look. ‘Let him go, Captain.’

‘You’re kidding,’ said Týr.

‘I said, let him go. He’s under my protection.’

Reluctantly, the hedge of blades was withdrawn from around Yours Truly. I sat up and tried a winning smile. No one around me seemed to be won.

‘Er, hi,’ I said. ‘I know it must seem strange to you that someone like me should want to hang out with people like you. But give me a chance and I’ll prove to you I’m not a spy. I swear it. I’ve burnt my boats by coming here; I’m a traitor to my people. Send me back, and they’ll kill me – or worse.’

‘So?’ That was Heimdall; a flashy type, with golden armour and teeth to match. ‘We don’t need a traitor’s help. Treachery’s a crooked rune that never flies straight, or hits the mark.’

That was typical Heimdall, or so I came to realize later. Pompous, rude and arrogant. His rune was Madr, straight as a die; boxy and pedestrian. I thought of the mark of Kaen on my arm and said:

‘Sometimes crooked is better than straight.’

‘You think so?’ said Heimdall.

‘Let’s try it,’ I said. ‘My glam against yours. Let Odin decide the victor.’

There was an archery target outside. I’d noticed it as we came in. The gods were predictably keen on sports; popular types so often are. I’d never used a bow before, but I understood the principle.

‘Come on, Goldie,’ I said, and grinned. ‘Or are you having second thoughts?’

‘I’ll give you this,’ he said. ‘You can talk. Now let’s see how well you perform.’