The Lost Gods (6 page)

‘Mum, keep your voice down, they'll hear you,' muttered Freya.

‘You can't do this to me, when I'm so busy, and—'

‘It's all right, Mum, I'll look after them,' said Freya. ‘It's Wodenic to welcome strangers, isn't that right?'

‘Need I remind you that the Traveller who has come from afar needs water, kindness, concern, and FOOD!' boomed Thor. He knitted his brows ominously.

Clare pursed her mouth. She sighed ungraciously. ‘I am perfectly aware of the Sayings of the Gods, thank you, Mr – uh, what is your name?'

‘Atli,' said Thor.

‘Atli Bluetooth,' added Freya, saying the first surname she thought of. ‘And this is—'

‘Oski,' said Woden. ‘Oski Bluetooth.'

‘Those are fine, Wodenic names I haven't heard in a while,' said Clare. ‘Are you two related?'

‘He's my son,' said Woden.

‘Really?' said Clare. ‘I'd have said you were both the same age. Nice to share a profession, though.'

She peered more closely at her unwelcome visitors.

‘What happened to you?' asked Clare. ‘You look like you've been in the wars.'

‘As a matter of fact,' began Woden, ‘we—'

‘They were mugged, Mum,' interrupted Freya.

‘What a terrible introduction to Britain we've had,' said Roskva.

‘But so much better since we've met you,' added Alfi politely. Freya beamed at him.

‘Oh dear,' said Clare, smiling at Alfi. ‘I am sorry.'

‘It will greatly enhance your honour if you receive us,' said Woden.

‘Really?' Clare looked doubtful. ‘And how long is the exchange for?'

‘Oh, just a few—' before Freya could finish speaking, the sound of splashing and loud, tuneless singing came from upstairs.

‘Don't tell me there's
more
,' said Clare.

‘That's Freyja,' said Freya. ‘She's a—'

‘All the brooch goddesses, glinting with gold …' brayed the shrill voice from inside the bathroom.

‘How long has she been in there?' said Clare. ‘Because I'd like to freshen up …'

‘There's another magic glass in here,' shouted the bathing Goddess. ‘I could admire myself all day. I want a hundred of these for my Hall.'

Freya looked at her mum and shrugged.

‘They're foreigners,' she whispered. ‘It's only for a few days.'

Clare marched up the stairs and knocked aggressively on the bathroom door.

‘The Goddess of the Arm, the sea-fire's fortress—' came the trilling voice.

‘Hello, could you hurry up please?' interrupted Clare. ‘We only have one bathroom and other people need to use it.'

Freyja stopped singing.

‘How
dare
you disturb me!' she screeched. ‘Go wash outside.'

Clare looked stunned.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and clutched her brow. ‘Freya, I really don't need house guests on top of everything else, especially not such
rude
ones … and there's a strange man lurking outside. He's wearing some kind of skins. And carrying weapons. I'm going to call the police.'

Freya peeked through the window. The unmistakable shape of Snot was visible standing outside her front wall, wearing bear skins and holding an axe in his club-like fist.

He raised his weapon to her. ‘Hail and be lucky, Hornblower!' he shouted.

Freya started to feel faint.

Great. Just great. Three Gods, two slaves, and a berserker. Oh and frost giants on the way. Freya gave Snot a little wave.

‘You
know
him?' asked Clare.

‘He's their … umm … bodyguard,' said Freya. That, at least, was true.

‘Bodyguard?' said Clare. ‘Who
are
these people?'

‘They're just simple Icelandic people,' said
Freya. If she told any more lies her nose was going to hit the wall. ‘Not used to the big city. Their school wanted to send someone … in national dress … to protect them. And they were right, they've been mugged on their first day.'

‘They're obviously going to need a lot of looking after,' said Clare. ‘I mean, look at their clothes. And, so help me Frey and the all-powerful Gods, I just don't have the time. I've got baby namings, and a wedding, and an oath-swearing …'

‘Mum, it's sorted, leave it to me,' said Freya, as the bathroom door opened, and the Goddess appeared, wearing one of Clare's best dresses and some of her jewellery.

Clare's mouth dropped open.

‘Excuse me. That's my dress you're wearing,' said Clare.

Freyja scowled.

‘And what a hideous rag it is, too,' said the Goddess of Plenty. ‘You should be ashamed to offer a guest such a horrible garment.'

‘I didn't offer it,' said Clare. ‘You took it. And my shoes. How dare you just rummage in my closet and borrow my things. Those are my best sandals. And they're too small for you, you've stretched them.'

‘You didn't offer me gifts when I arrived so I corrected your lack of hospitality,' said Freyja. ‘It's an honour to have me as your guest, thrall.'

‘You can't just take other people's things,' said Clare. ‘Maybe where you're from that's okay, but it isn't here.'

‘Mum!' hissed Freya. ‘They do things differently in … Iceland. Her clothes were wrecked when she was mugged.'

‘It's an honour for you to give me a garment,' said Freyja. ‘But if you are so foolish as to require payment instead of my blessing, well then …'

Freyja stripped off one of her heavily carved gold bangles and handed it to Clare. Then she sashayed down the stairs in Clare's heels.

‘I can't accept this,' said Clare.

‘Mum, just take it,' said Freya. ‘It's rude to refuse.'

Clare looked at the bangle. ‘This seems awfully valuable,' she said.

‘Cut them some slack, Mum, okay?' begged Freya. ‘We want them to have a good impression of Britain, right?'

Clare sighed.

‘And what did she call me?
Thrall?
What does she think I am?'

‘It must mean something different in Icelandic,' said Freya. ‘It probably means Enthralling Madame or Honoured Lady.'

Clare looked sceptical.

The TV blared from the sitting room, accompanied by loud stomps and cheers. Freya dashed downstairs. My Gods, you couldn't leave them alone for a moment, she thought.

The three Immortals sat riveted in front of the telly watching the Jewellery Channel as the blonde presenter modelled bracelets. Roskva and Alfi stood by the door, equally mesmerised.

‘People offer treasure on this box,' said Woden.

‘I want everything,' said Freyja.

‘So you see what you get BEFORE you go raiding,' said Thor. ‘Makes sense.'

‘You can't just take things,' said Freya. ‘You have to buy them.'

‘Buy?' said Woden. ‘That's just for merchants.'

‘Where's dinner?' bellowed Thor. ‘I'm starving! I could eat an ox.'

‘What do you mean, where's dinner?' said Clare, standing in the doorway.

‘There should always be food for those who need it,' said Thor. ‘And drink. Where's your beer vat? The good host always has one by the door for thirsty guests. And we're thirsty.'

Freya cringed. She rarely saw her Mum lost for words.

‘I wasn't expecting guests tonight,' said Clare. ‘I don't have much food in the house. We were just going to have a very simple supper.'

‘You should always be ready to receive guests,'
snapped the Goddess, rolling her eyes.

‘The unwelcome guest is untimely,' muttered Clare.

Thor's hand twitched on his hammer.

‘Mum!' hissed Freya. ‘They're foreigners. That's the custom in Iceland. Please.'

‘I want mead,' said Woden.

‘A horn of shining ale!' bellowed Thor.

‘I have lemonade,' said Clare. ‘And ginger beer.'

The Gods looked unhappily at the soft drinks Clare served. Thor took a sip, and spat it out.

‘Hope you've got herring. I love herring,' said Thor. ‘And salmon. I can eat eight.'

‘No,' said Clare. ‘We
were
having fish fingers and jacket potatoes with cheese tonight. But I don't have enough—'

‘What's a potato?' said Thor.

‘You don't have potatoes in Iceland?' asked Clare.

Thor looked bewildered.

‘It's a vegetable,' said Clare.

‘That's not a worthy feast for guests like us,' said Woden. ‘Why haven't you roasted oxen or a boar, or slaughtered a sheep?'

Clare's mouth dropped open. She shot Freya a look. Freya pretended not to notice.

‘Freya, will you help me get supper ready?' said Clare.

Freya followed her into the kitchen. She felt like she was vainly trying to staunch a leaking dyke. Whenever one hole was plugged another opened.

‘What abominable manners. Honestly,' said her mother. ‘I've half a mind to walk out and leave them to fend for themselves. What am I going to feed them? There's not enough food in the house for so many, I could whip up some pasta, or macaroni cheese, but I don't have any—'

‘What about pizza?' suggested Freya.

Clare's face cleared.

‘Good idea. I'll order some takeaway. Are any of them vegetarian?'

Freya tried – and failed – to imagine vegetarian Gods.

‘No,' she said, as Clare reached for her phone.

The Gods, Roskva and Alfi squished into the kitchen, gazing cautiously at the crisps Clare offered. They stared at the stained wooden table in the centre, the result of too much finger-painting when Freya was little, with its bench on one side, and mis-matched chairs on the other. Freya hastily swept the papers and books off the table, to clear some space.

‘
This
is your feasting hall?' said the Goddess.

‘Yes,' said Clare. ‘I'd call it a kitchen, though.'

‘This hovel is very small and mean,' said the Goddess. ‘I am used to
much
better. Where are the slaves who will serve us and fill our drinking horns?'

‘If you will allow me to correct your English, I think you mean
servants
, not slaves,' said Clare, bristling. ‘And there are no servants here, sorry. It's the best I can offer at this
short
notice.'

‘We ate and slept in the same room on our farm,' said Roskva.

‘This house is
much
nicer than our old one,' said Alfi. ‘No pigs indoors for a start.'

‘Dad, look at this!' said Thor, pointing to the oven. ‘And this!' he added, going to the refrigerator. He gasped. ‘It's COLD in this box, yet warm in the room. And this!' He flicked the light switches on and off, on and off. ‘This room is lit without fire or nuggets of gold. And this!' he shouted, pointing at the sink where water came from the tap. ‘Water inside. I have 540 rooms in my Hall, and none have anything like this.'

‘540 rooms?' said Clare. Mr Bluetooth must be confused about his numbers in English, she thought.

‘You have light without candles,' said Woden.
‘And water without a well. Yet this is far from being a great hall.'

Clare's brows furrowed.

‘They live in a very rural part of Iceland, Mum,' said Freya.

Clare smiled patiently. ‘You speak excellent English.'

‘We speak many languages,' said Woden.

‘Right everyone, sit down, sit anywhere,' said Clare. ‘We'll all have to squeeze in.'

‘I will take the High Seat,' said Woden, pushing past Clare and placing himself at the head of the table.

‘Mr Bluetooth, why don't you sit next to your dad,' began Clare.

Thor's eyebrows bristled.

‘You've seated me by the door,' he roared. ‘I am insulted. I want a better seat.'

Clare jumped.

‘I'll switch with him,' said Freya. ‘He's nervous about doors,' she whispered. Oh Gods, what next?

Roskva and Alfi went and stood behind Thor's chair.

‘Fine, fine,' said Clare, flustered, ‘and Roskva and Alfi can sit …'

‘On the floor,' said Thor.

‘What?' asked Clare.

‘Mum, students don't eat with teachers in Iceland,' said Freya.

‘Well. I'm afraid they do in Britain,' said Clare firmly.

Thor scowled.

‘We must follow the custom of the country,' said Woden. ‘Bid the slaves sit at the far end of the table.'

‘Slaves?' said Clare. ‘I—'

‘Mum, it's Icelandic for student,' interrupted Freya. ‘It's pronounced
Slowe-ve
. We learned that today in school when we were hearing about the exchange students.'

Clare paused. ‘I must remember that,' she said. ‘Very interesting. I might use it in my sermon this week, how important it is to honour
children, and not treat them as commodities.'