I pulled my cloak over my head and tried to ignore the weird sounds, but it was a tired and listless Trickster who, some four hours later, finally called it a night and crept to the entrance of the cave to see what might be happening.

The first thing I saw was a pair of feet as large as the average garden shed. Further investigation revealed them to belong to a sleeping figure; a giant of spectacular size, fast asleep and snoring.

I told Thor. ‘That explains a lot. The rumbling, the earthquakes. Seems you’re not the only one who farts in his sleep and snores like a pig.’

Thor went out to see for himself. I followed at a cautious distance. At Thor’s approach the giant opened one eye (an eye as big as a barn door and grey as a freshwater oyster) and said: ‘Why hello, little man.’

‘Who are you?’ said Thor, who didn’t appreciate being called ‘little’.

‘Skrymir,’ said the giant. His voice was as deep as the ocean. He looked a little more closely at the two of us. ‘And if I’m not mistaken, you’re Asa-Thor. And that’s Loki, the Trickster.’

I had to admit that I was.

He grinned. ‘I’ve heard the stories,’ he said. ‘But I thought you’d be bigger in real life. Has anybody seen my glove?’ He sat up and looked around. ‘Ah! There it is!’

That was when I realized that the hall in which we’d spent the night was Skrymir’s glove; a stitched leather mitten of colossal size, with an extra space for the thumb. This space was the smaller cavern in which we’d spent the night – it also explained the strong smell of goat and the strange consistency of the walls, which were neither stone nor wood, nor any other building material I could identify.

Thialfi and Roskva had come out into the open and were watching Skrymir nervously; he put on his glove, shouldered his pack and stood up, ready to go on his way.

Then he seemed to have a thought. ‘If you want to meet my folk, our stronghold isn’t far from here. Utgard. I could show you the way.’

We thought about that for a moment. As I said before, Utgard had a reputation. There were rumours of a fortress, buried deep in the permafrost, built to rival Asgard and ruled by a master of glamours and runes. No one had ever gone far enough north to find out the truth of these rumours, though if there was any truth to the tale, it probably wasn’t the wisest move for Thor and me to go in alone.

But Thialfi and Roskva were watching us, and – what can I say?

‘All right,’ said Thor.