But now, as my eyes adjusted to the half-light, I saw that the cavern was filled to the roof with examples of the craftsmen’s work. All around there were objects of gold: jewellery, swords, shields; all embossed and gleaming with the soft sheen of beautiful things kept in darkness.

Some were merely decorative – bracelets, rings, headpieces – some intricate to the point of obsession, some starkly, deceptively simple. And some were virtually buzzing with glam; carved and filigreed with runes so intricate that even I could only guess at their purpose.

I’ve never cared that much for gold, but in the hall of the Tunnel Folk I found myself feeling covetous; eyeing those bright and beautiful things, planning and wishing to make them mine. It was a part of their glam, I suppose; the glam that runs through World Below like a seam of precious metal. It makes men greedy and women corrupt; blinds them with the light of desire. Too long in this place could drive a man mad – the gold, the glam, the fumes from the forge. I had to get out of there, and quick. But not without Sif’s golden hair. And if I could manage to persuade them to give me a little extra . . .

I took another step and said: ‘Greetings, too, from your sister, Idun the Healer, Idun the Fair, Keeper of the Golden Fruit.’

Ivaldi’s sons all looked at me, their eyes shining and skittering like beetles in their sunken sockets. Dvalin stepped forward. I knew him by reputation, and by the fact that his right foot was twisted and lame – an accident, the circumstances of which I may tell in some later tale (not that Yours Truly was involved . . . well, not very much, at least). I hoped he didn’t bear a grudge, or better still, that he didn’t recognize me in my current Aspect. I said:

‘Greetings, Dvalin, to you and yours. I bring you marvellous news from Asgard. You and your brothers have been chosen, among all the craftsmen of World Below, to carry out a delicate task, for which your names will be celebrated and your work be known throughout the Worlds. For a limited time only, this opportunity will allow you, the sons of Ivaldi, to share in the glory of Asgard; Asgard the golden, Asgard the fair, Asgard the eternal—’

Dvalin said: ‘What’s in it for us?’

‘Fame,’ I said with my broadest smile. ‘And the knowledge that you’re the best. Why else would Odin have chosen you, of all the smiths in World Below?’

That was the way to draw them in. I knew it from the old days. The Maggots can’t be bought in the regular way, they already have all the wealth they need. They have no passions beyond their craft, but they are very ambitious. I knew they wouldn’t be able to resist a challenge to prove their superior skill.

‘What do you want?’ said Dvalin.