Brokk scowled at me. ‘You’ve damaged my reputation,’ he said. ‘All of World Below now believes Dvalin’s work to be better than mine. I need to make a point.’

‘How?’

‘I’ll wager my work against your head.’ He gave me a very nasty smile.

‘Really? That’s all?’ I was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable. These artist types can be very intense, and besides, what would he do with my head?

‘I’d use it as a doorstop,’ said Brokk. ‘That way anyone coming in or out of my workshop would know what happens to anyone who dares to disparage my craftsmanship.’

Nice, I thought. But a bet was a bet. ‘Fine,’ I told him. ‘But you’ll have your work cut out.’

He smiled, if you can call that a smile. His teeth were like pieces of amber. ‘I’ll be doing the cutting,’ he said. ‘If you’re lucky, I’ll use a knife. If not—’

‘Just go ahead,’ I said.

Not really the best choice of words, come to think of it. But I was feeling confident. I had a few more tricks up my sleeve, and besides, when I walked into Asgard, I knew I’d be the blue-eyed boy, and therefore immune to everything.

Just proves how wrong you can be, I guess.

Lesson 9 Hammer and Tongs

LESSON 9

Hammer and Tongs

Never trust an insect.

Lokabrenna

BROKK’S WORKSHOP was not at all like that of Dvalin and his brothers. For a start, he had a regular forge, fed with regular fuel, and therefore had none of the natural advantages enjoyed by the sons of Ivaldi. His brother Sindri, whom I’d rather expected to be the brains behind the outfit, looked little more than a halfwit. There were no objects on display here; no weapons, no jewellery; only a pile of raw materials: metals, pieces of sacking, animal skins, lumps of wood and other pieces of detritus more suited to a ragman’s cart than to an artist’s studio. And it stank; of sweat and goat and smoke and oil and sulphur. Hard to imagine that out of this mess could ever come anything beautiful.

However, I was suspicious. I watched the two brothers carefully as they began work, and saw that, although they both seemed boorish and slow, Sindri had very nimble hands, and Brokk’s arms were very strong as he worked at the giant bellows that would bring the forge to sufficient heat.

This gave me a sudden idea. ‘I’m going outside for some air,’ I said. ‘Call me when you’ve finished.’

I went into the passageway and shifted my Aspect to that of a fly. A gadfly, to be precise; quick and sharp and annoying. I flew back into the workshop unseen and watched from the shadows as Brokk picked up a piece of raw gold and flung it into the heart of the forge.