The Trap (The Magnificent 12 #2)(42)

In response to Mack’s quizzical look, Dietmar said, “It is the local football team. Soccer to you.”

“Why would Thor sell us out? He seemed like a nice guy,” Mack protested.

That actually brought a laugh from Nott. And she didn’t strike any of them as a giggly person.

“Thor? A nice guy?” Nott said. “And no doubt Odin seemed like a weary old man. But listen, young fool: in the olden days of yore, the Vikings used to raid in their longships. They would arrive at first light, taking a small town by surprise and catching people in their beds. They would seem like demons to the townsfolk. Every atrocity you can possibly imagine would take place. And always the cries of ‘Wotan’ and ‘Thor’ were on the lips of the berserkers.”

“Berserkers?” Stefan asked. He liked the sound of that.

“The berserker state,” Nott said distastefully. “It is a madness that seizes warriors, a madness sent by All-Father Odin. A madness so wild, so fierce, so fearless, so enraged that no foe could stand against them, and even their friends kept away lest they be slaughtered in the heat of it.”

“Huh,” Stefan said. “Cool.”

“But why would he sell us out?” Mack demanded.

“Have you not noticed the shabbiness and decay that is Asgard?” Nott asked. “We are forgotten by those who once worshipped us. Our economy is in shambles. Once men sacrificed to us: food, weapons, gold. Now we are reduced to selling the tapestries and furnishings at the Gammel Strand flea market in Copenhagen.”

“So you’re getting paid to give us up?” Jarrah asked.

“The Pale Queen is very rich,” Nott explained. “She never relied on sacrifices for income. Instead she pillaged and then invested wisely. She invested in cell phone carriers, airlines, and health insurers—anything evil. And of course she owns several banks. Whereas we . . . well, All-Father Odin was never a wise steward. So our gold was spent on beer and sausages, and our antiques were sold. All we have left now is our minority share of Lego.” Nott sighed. “We’re reduced to shopping the sales at the Aldi.”

“A discount chain,” Dietmar explained.

“Ah. Like Costco.” Mack nodded.

Mack opened the door a crack and peeked out into the hallway. “I think it’s clear.”

“Then let us go,” Nott said.

“So long as it’s not on anyone’s head,” Xiao said.

Stefan laughed and offered her a high five, which Xiao stared at blankly.

Nott led the way out of the bathroom. She glided. The rest of them trotted as quietly as they could.

Mack saw a blue-green glow ahead. The observatory. Although what exactly that meant was a mystery to him.

“I guess it was cooler for you gods in the old days,” Mack said in a low voice, searching for something polite to say to smooth over the argument between Xiao and Nott.

“Yes,” the booming voice of Thor said. “It was cooler in the old days.”

He stepped into view, filling the arch at the far end of the hall. He still had his guitar, but the T-shirt and sweatpants were gone. Now he wore tall leather boots, sketchy deerskin leggings, a threadbare orange-red knee-length tunic, and what looked like the mangy skin of one very large bear over his shoulders.

He did not have a helmet, let alone one with horns.

He did, however, have a very impressive belt hung with a very wicked-looking sword.

Nott said, “Let them go, Thor. The old days are dead and gone. You cannot bring them back, not even with the Pale Queen’s money.”

Thor’s cold blue eyes stared at her with open contempt. “Three thousand years ago the Pale Queen was taken and bound. And for a long while after, we still kept our power, Nott. But each year it faded. Just a little at first. But little by little . . . And now look at me. Gaze with pity and contempt upon he who was once the god of thunder!”

“Dude,” Mack said. “No one was dissing you. You are still totally Thor.”

“Very much so,” Jarrah said. “Excellently Thorlike.”

But Dietmar said, “We have no need of such silly things as gods of thunder.”

“Sure we do,” Mack said, trying to catch Dietmar’s eye and get him to play along. “I think everyone should have a god of thunder.”

But Dietmar wasn’t having it. He stood with hands on hips, defiant. “You should be ashamed of your behavior, you so-called god of thunder, threatening us this way.”

“No, no,” Mack said tersely. “He’s totally cool with the whole giant boots and sword thing and all.”

“No. He is just a big bully,” Dietmar insisted.

“Emphasis on big,” Jarrah said. “So maybe we should all be a bit more polite, eh, mate?”

“Nonsense. He can squash us like insects, but that is no reason for us to flatter him.”

“Actually—” Mack started to say.

But he stopped when he felt very large, very meat-scented breath coming from behind him. He turned slowly, and there stood Fenrir, grinning his wolf grin.

“Gentle, Fenrir, gentle,” Thor said. “Hel will want them alive. You know she likes her meat fresh.”

Mack was busy calculating the distance to the green-blue glow of the observatory beyond Thor. It was only a hundred yards or so. A hundred yards and one giant thunder god.