The gods looked openly cynical, with the exception of Idun, the Healer, whose view of the world was so sunny that she even trusted me, and Sigyn, Freyja’s handmaid, who just looked soupier than ever. Everyone else muttered and glared. Even Balder turned away.

Freyja gave me a scornful look. Heimdall showed his golden teeth. And Thor hissed at me as I passed: ‘Till tomorrow, demon boy. Then I’m going to kick your ass.’

I blew him a kiss as I went out. I knew I was in no danger. The day a cowboy builder takes Loki for a ride is the day that pigs fly over the Rainbow Bridge and Lord Surt comes to Asgard for tea and little fairy cakes, wearing a taffeta ballgown and singing mezzo-soprano.

Just saying, in case you had any doubts. Yes, folks. I’m that good.

The next day I got up early and high-tailed it from Asgard. Or so people thought – those doubters who didn’t believe I had a plan. Meanwhile, the mason and his horse set off across the grassy plain, now only piebald with patches of snow. Spring was trembling in the air. Birds sang, flowers bloomed, tiny furry animals scampered and scurried in the fields and the black horse Svadilfari seemed to have a gleam in his eye that had been absent all winter.

Above him, Asgard glittered in the sun, its granite walls spackled with mica. It looked truly magnificent; its shining rooftops, turrets, walkways, gardens, sunny balconies. Its twenty-four halls were all different (you notice I still didn’t have one); each made to the specifications of the god or goddess who lived there. Odin’s was the largest, of course, towering dizzily over the rest, with his high seat – a kind of crow’s nest – lost in a ballet of rainbows. The only unfinished section was that massive entrance gateway. Three dozen blocks of stone, no more, remained to quarry and hew into shape – a morning’s work, if that, I thought. No wonder the mason looked cheery, whistling between his teeth as he started to unpack his tools.

But just as his master was about to start work quarrying the last of the stone, the black horse raised his head and neighed. A mare – a very pretty mare – was standing on the far side of the quarry. Her mane was long, her flanks were smooth, her eyes were bright and inviting.

She whinnied. Svadilfari replied, then, shaking free of his harness, ignoring his master’s angry commands, he ran to join the pretty mare as she galloped off across the plain.

The mason was furious. He spent all day chasing his horse from one stand of trees to another. No stone at all was quarried that day. Meanwhile, the horse and the little mare celebrated the coming of spring in the usual time-honoured fashion, and the mason tried to complete the gate with ill-fitting pieces of leftover stone.