I waited till Freyja was asleep. Then I entered her chamber, once again disguised as a flea. Freyja was wearing the necklace in bed – and nothing else, I noticed – but, regaining my Aspect, I found that she was lying on the clasp. I couldn’t reach to unfasten it. And I couldn’t afford to wait until the goddess turned over in her sleep. My mission might have Odin’s blessing, but if I were caught next to Freyja’s bed, naked, in the middle of the night, the Vanir wouldn’t hesitate to gut me like a mackerel.

And so I returned into my flea Aspect and bit her on the eyelid. She gave a sigh and turned over, exposing the clasp of the necklace. Assuming my Aspect once again, I reached for the necklace and, very gently, unfastened it and slid it off. Then I crept to the chamber door and unlocked it from the inside, blew the sleeping Freyja a kiss, and prepared to head back to Odin’s hall, where the Old Man was waiting grimly for proof of her betrayal.

But as I was reaching for my clothes (which I’d left at the door as I shifted, of course), I became aware of a figure standing in the passageway. It was Heimdall, snooping around as usual, who must have spotted my signature from his vantage point on Bif-rost.

He drew his mindsword, a cantrip of Týr – a flickering blade as deceptively fast as a moth’s wing, and as sharp as my tongue.

‘This is not what it looks like,’ I said.

He smiled, exposing his golden teeth. ‘Let’s see what your insides look like.’

I shifted to my Wildfire Aspect and started to race down the passageway, dropping the necklace onto the flags. But Heimdall cast the rune Logr – water – and I found myself suddenly, painfully quenched.

I returned to my habitual Aspect, shivering, drenched and au naturel.

‘You don’t know what you’re getting into,’ I gasped. ‘The Old Man sanctioned this himself.’

He laughed. ‘I knew you were a liar,’ he said, ‘but this tops it all. The General asked you to break into Freyja’s rooms? Why would he do that?’

I shrugged and picked up the necklace again. ‘Let’s go. You can ask him yourself.’

They tell you revenge isn’t worth it. I say there’s nothing finer. I reached Odin’s hall in a headlock, naked, wet and covered in soot. Heimdall, looking like a golden retriever triumphantly bringing one of his master’s slippers, flung me at the General’s feet.

‘I found this little weasel sniffing around Freyja’s bedroom,’ he said. ‘I know that for some reason he entertains you, but—’

‘Get out,’ Odin said.

‘But, Allfather—’ began Heimdall, confused.