Sleipnir

I knew I sounded petulant; but that old witch made me nervous, and Baldr—the dead god—was taking an interest in my affairs that I could have done without.

Modgud inclined her greasy head and I jumped ashore. I slipped in the clay, and slid toward the acid river. Before I could plummet feet-first into a messy death, my benefactor grabbed my arm, and hauled me to the top of the bank. I panted my thanks, which he waved away, i

He was probably wondering—with sudden apprehension—whether saving me had been the smartest thing he'd ever done. Given who his father was, I wasn't so sure—from his viewpoint—that it had been, either. Personally, I was pretty grateful. I had to watch my step triply now that I was squarely in the middle of Death's domain. I squared my pack and tugged my tattered shirt back down into place.

His first question voiced what everyone must have been wondering, myself included.

"What brings you here?"

The old woman's high cackle stopped any answer I might have formed.

"He's come to torment your uncle," she wheezed gleefully.

Baldr's brows drew sharply down. My instinct was to dive for my knife, even as I wondered whether a dead god could be killed again... .

The skiff shot out into the river, disappearing into a bank of mist, which left me no choice but to face Loki's nephew—and Odin's son.

Chapter Twelve

It figured that Odin's favorite son—and one of Loki's worst enemies—would be on hand to greet me.

He stared out at the mist for a moment; then pulled himself together visibly. "I apologize," he said with a wan smile. "Thinking about my uncle is a little upsetting. I try not to, at all." He looked me up and down, taking my measure. "You didn't come all this way to torment Loki, surely?"

"No. That was her idea." I jerked my head toward where the skiff had vanished. "I'm really just looking for some information from him."

His face clouded somewhat. "I wouldn't advise that. Loki is dangerous, and not exactly cooperative." A pained expression crossed his face. "I ought to know."

"It must be rough, huh?" I asked, trying to sound sympathetic.

He shrugged, and smiled ruefully. "Well, it isn't great, no, and the mold growing on your feet can get to you; but it isn't so bad, really. Plenty of peace and quiet, no worries to speak of, so long as you avoid Loki. He's kind of bitter about the whole thing."

And Baldr wasn't? If someone had murdered me and dumped me in this gawdawful place for eternity... Maybe living in Niflheim did scramble a person's brain, or maybe dying was akin to gelding, because it was hard to believe that any Norse god could be this mellow, never mind a son of Odin who'd been murdered.

On the other hand, madness did take a variety of forms. I was convinced that Odin himself was 'round the bend and gone, so it was entirely possible that Odin's dead son was cheerfully mad in his own inimitable way. But while my current ability to judge relative sanity might be impaired (I was in hell, after all), Baldr didn't look insane. He looked hale, hearty, and sort of wistful around the eyes.

"What can I be thinking?" he said with a grimace. "I can only excuse my ma

He held out his hand. I started to take it and he clasped my forearm instead, in a firm grip.

"Baldr," he said again, "son of Odin, longtime resident of Niflheim. And you "—his eyes twinkled—"are something of a mystery."

I glanced over my shoulder in the direction Modgud had disappeared, and wondered if Baldr were lying. Everything I'd read about Baldr said he was the primal good guy. But if Modgud knew what was going on, surely Baldr did too? Or did Modgud know simply because she was in charge of the ferry, so it was her business to know? Or had she just made a very shrewd guess?

How the hell was I supposed to know which gods knew what?

I looked back at Baldr. "Yeah, well, everything that's been happening to me lately is kind of mysterious. I'm damned if I know how to explain it." I shrugged ruefully. "I'm Randy Barnes."

"Yes, I know."

My blood went cold and my eyes went hard.

Baldr chuckled and added, "Let me explain. A while back a Norwegian came through here, wrapped in ropes, cursing something awful, bones sticking out odd places—one hell of a mess, if you'll pardon the pun—and he said you were in a powerful hurry to get here. Of course, he thought he'd spoken figuratively." Baldr chuckled. "Then Hel heard your arrival—the living are so noisy in comparison with us dead folk; your footsteps echoed all the way down Sleipnir's tu

Baldr was still chuckling; but I remembered Bjornssen's death scream. I didn't like the casual way these gods killed us off when it suited their game plan. Baldr's laughter died away, replaced by puzzlement.

"Why are you angry about this?"

"Why did you kill Bjornssen? It wasn't necessary."

He looked more puzzled than before. "I have never killed anyone."

"Yeah. Right. Tell it to the birds."

My knees had gone shaky—reaction setting in, maybe, or just plain rage—so I strode to the nearest boulder and sat down before I collapsed embarrassingly in front of him. I was whacked out, and bone-deep sore in more places than I wasn't, and standing there talking was a goddamn waste of time I probably didn't have to spare. I had people to see, and Gary Vernon to avenge.

"Sorry," I muttered. "I keep getting all you gods mixed up."

Baldr squatted beside me, and studied my face for several moments; then stared out across the Gjoll. When he spoke, his voice was distant, contemplative. "Each man's death is his own to meet, and each man must face it alone at the time decreed for him. That is one moment no one can take from him or assume for him. The fault of your friend's death ca

I glanced up; but couldn't tell whether he was talking about Klaus or Gary.

Baldr was still talking. "The Norns decree all that must be. They guided his footsteps up to the moment of his death, as surely as they have guided yours here while you still live."

Gary's death proved that wrong; but I didn't feel like arguing the point with Odin's son.

"All I want is to talk to Loki," I growled.

Baldr's eyes narrowed. "About what?"

"Sleipnir."

Baldr's eyes widened. "What in the nine worlds has Sleipnir to do with this?"

I glanced up from checking my P-7 for rust. "Got to do with what?"

He swept a hand around at the landscape. "Your presence here. Obviously the Norns have brought you here for a reason, and a very important one; but Sleipnir is Odin's horse, not Hel's. He doesn't live in Niflheim."

I met his blue eyes squarely. "I saw him just a few minutes ago, in that big tu

Baldr gri

"Huh. You just said a mouthful, friend."

Living in interesting times was a curse I could've done without. I reholstered the P-7.

"You'll point out the way to Loki, then?"

He shook his head. Mistrust had crept into his eyes. Baldr was supposed to've been the trusting type. Clearly, he'd learned caution in the eons he'd been stuck in this slimepit of a world.

"No, I think not. This game is too serious for blundering about in the dark. My hostess will want to speak with you, at the very least."