Brokk glared and went inside without a word. In gadfly Aspect I followed him, and watched as, still glaring, he pulled from the pile of raw materials a piece of iron as big as his head. He threw it into the heart of the forge, then, as Sindri started to shape it with runes, he wielded the bellows, his face turning red with the effort.

I could already see that this third artefact was shaping up to be something unique. What was it? A weapon? I thought it was; shaped like the rune Thurís and snapping with glam and energy. I had to make sure that this time it failed; and so I flew into Brokk’s face and stung him right between the eyes, stung him hard enough to draw blood. He gave a roar of anger and raised a hand to sweep me aside – and for a moment, a second, no more, he loosened his grip on the bellows.

Sindri cried out; ‘No! Don’t stop!’

Brokk redoubled his efforts. But it was too late; the weapon that had taken shape in the forge was already losing its substance. Sindri cursed and started to cast runes at an incredible speed. Could he salvage the delicate work? I was inclined to believe he could not. Even if he managed to save it somehow, I knew it wouldn’t be perfect.

I flew back into the passageway, resumed my Aspect (and my clothes). I was waiting when Brokk came out, blood still trickling down his face and something, wrapped in a cloth, in his hands.

‘Well?’ I said.

‘Well, this is it,’ said Brokk, unwrapping the object.

It was a warhammer, I saw; heavy and brutal and laden with glam from its nose to the tip of its handle – a handle that was rather short, the only flaw in a weapon that even I could tell was wholly unique; unique and uniquely desirable.

‘This is Mjølnir,’ said Brokk, with a snarl. ‘The greatest hammer ever forged. In the hands of the Thunderer it will protect all of Asgard. It will never leave his side; it will always serve him well; and when a show of modesty is required, it will fold up like a pocket knife and—’

‘Excuse me,’ I interrupted. ‘A show of modesty? Are we still talking about a hammer?’

Brokk displayed those awful teeth. ‘Of course Thor loves his wife,’ he said. ‘But when it comes to impressing his friends, a giant weapon is all he needs.’

I pulled a face. The Maggots rarely manage humour, and when they do, it tends to be coarse.

‘We’ll see about that, shall we?’ I said. ‘As for your weapon, it seems to me to be a little – ah, short in the shaft.’

‘It’s what you do with it that counts,’ growled Brokk. ‘Now, shall we get going? My brother and I have a wager to win.’

I led the way to Asgard.