The Complete Compleat Enchanter by Fletcher Pratt, L. Sprague deCamp Read Free Book Online

pitched into a world of Scandinavian mythology—or else Scandinavian history. He was almost prepared to accept the former view.
    These people talked with great conviction about their Ragnarök. He was enough of a psychologist to recognize their sincerity. And that icy stare he had felt from Odinn and then Heimdall was something, so far as he knew, outside ordinary human experience. It might be a form of hypnosis, but he doubted whether the technique, or even the idea of hypnotism, would be known to ancient Viking chiefs. No, there was something definitely more than human about them.
    Yet they had human enough attributes as well. It ought not to be beyond the powers of an experimental psychologist to guide his conduct by analyzing them a little and making use of the results. Odinn? Well, he was off to the gates of Hell, whither Shea had no desire to follow him. Not much to be made of him, anyway, save a sense of authority.
    What about Loki? A devastatingly sharp tongue that indicated a keen mind at work. Also a certain amount of malice. Uncle Fox, Thjalfi had called him, and said he was fond of jokes. Shea told himself he would not be surprised to find the jokes were often of a painful order. Working for him might be difficult, but Shea smiled to himself as he thought how he could surprise the god with so simple an object as a match.
    Frey he had hardly noticed, Thor apparently was no more than a big, good-natured bruiser, and Thjalfi, the kind of rustic one would find in any country town, quoting Eddic lays instead of the Bible.
    Heimdall, however, was a more complex character, certainly lacking in Loki’s sense of humor, but also in the malice that was the basis of that humor. And he quite evidently felt he had a position of dignity to maintain with relation to the common herd—as witness his insistence on titles. But equally evidently he was prepared to accept the responsibilities of that position, throw himself heart and soul and with quite a good mind into the right side of the scales—as Loki was not. Perhaps that was why he hated Loki. And Heimdall, underneath the shell of dignity, had a streak of genuine kindness. One felt one could count on him—and deciding he liked Heimdall the best of the lot, Shea turned over and went to sleep.

    Four
    Shea woke with a set of fur-bearing teeth and a headache that resembled the establishment of a drop-forging plant inside his brain—whether from the mead or the effect of those two piercing glances he had received from Heimdall and Odinn he could not tell. It was severe enough to stir him to a morning-after resolution to avoid all three in the future.
    When the panel of his bedroom slid back he could hear voices from the hall. Thor, Loki, and Thjalfi were at breakfast as he came in, tearing away with knives and fingers at the steaks the size of unabridged dictionaries. The foxy-faced Loki greeted him cheerfully: “Hail, hero of the turnip fields! Will your lordship do us the honor of breakfasting with us?”
    He shoved a wooden platter with a hunk of meat on it toward Shea and passed along one of a collection of filled mugs. Shea’s mouth was dry, but he almost gagged when a pull at the mug showed it contained beer and sour beer at that.
    Loki laughed. “Ridiculous it is,” he said, “to see the children of men, who have no fixed customs, grow uneasy when customs about them change. Harold of the Turnips, I am told you are a notable warlock.”
    Shea looked at his plate. “I know one or two tricks,” he admitted.
    “It was only to be expected that a hero of such unusual powers would be modest. Now there is this to be said: a man fares ill at Ragnarök unless he have his place. Would you be one of my band at the Time?”
    Shea gulped. He was still unconvinced about this story of a battle and the end of the world, but he might as well ride with the current till he could master it. “Yes, sir, and thank you.”
    “The worm consents to ride on the eagle’s wings. Thank