Part 19 (2/2)

If this had been a movie, everyone would have stopped what they were doing to glare at the handsome stranger, but most of the patrons in the Well of Urd were so inebriated that they had barely enough focus to find the tankards on their tables, never mind muster a glare for a newcomer. One drinker did yell 'Happy Birthday, Mr President', but it was likely that she was hallucinating. Zaphod clambered down three stone steps to the tavern floor, then side-stepped viscous steaming puddles until he reached the bar, which towered cliff-like above him.

A pale, reanimated Viking barman with half a dozen blond hairs pasted across his s.h.i.+ny pate peered down at him. 'What can I do for you, junior?'

'You can tell me where Thor is,' replied Zaphod.

The barman whistled though a hole in his cheek. 'Now why would you want to find Thor? You being so alive and all.'

'He's in a bad mood, then?'

'You could say that,' said the barman. 'All he does is drink and play chess. And the more he loses, the more he drinks.'

'Doesn't he ever win?'

The barman sn.i.g.g.e.red. 'Win? n.o.body wins in here, junior.'

Zaphod peered up at the Viking. 'Your name wouldn't be Lief, would it?'

The barman was instantly enraged. He pulled a mini axe from a shoulder holster and began chopping the counter top.

'You tell Erik to come down here if he wants to talk about eyeb.a.l.l.s. You tell him that from me. Come down here and we'll talk!'

'I'll tell him,' said Zaphod, backing away. 'If I survive this chat with Thor.'

'It's not Thor you should worry about,' said the barman, jerking a thumb towards a dark alcove at the rear of the bar. 'It's those other little b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.'

Zaphod winked with supreme confidence. 'Don't worry. I've been in s...o...b..siness for years I know how to handle b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.'

The bar was cramped by Asgardian standards, but to Zaphod it felt like he had lost weight just walking briskly to Thor's table. On the way he pa.s.sed several brawls, a couple of magical rituals (one involving a heated skewer and a circle of wolves howling in unison), a funeral pyre piled high with bodies and also sausages, and a frozen lake with dwarves skating around on it being chased by a tree-footed monster.

I could live here, thought Zaphod.

The fun and games stopped shy of Thor's alcove. There seemed to be an unwritten agreement that the Thunder G.o.d should be left in peace, which was probably due to the very clearly written message painted on a whitewashed wall in what looked like lumpy congealed blood, which read: Leave me in peace and I probably won't kill you. No promises, mind. Probably is absolutely the best I can do. Leave me in peace and I probably won't kill you. No promises, mind. Probably is absolutely the best I can do.

Zaphod crossed the peace line and, for the first time since entering the bar, he felt scores of eyes on him.

Don't fret, Zaphod, he told himself. What happened between you was ages ago. He's probably forgotten all about it by now. I can barely remember it myself. Something to do with an interplanetary incident involving an umbrella with mythical powers and the secret formula for a prize-winning ice-cream What happened between you was ages ago. He's probably forgotten all about it by now. I can barely remember it myself. Something to do with an interplanetary incident involving an umbrella with mythical powers and the secret formula for a prize-winning ice-cream. Zaphod frowned. Nope. The umbrella/ice-cream c.o.c.k-up was a completely different G.o.d. Nope. The umbrella/ice-cream c.o.c.k-up was a completely different G.o.d.

Zaphod could see his one-time friend now, sitting at a round table with his back to the crowd. And what a back it was, broader than the average glacier with knots of muscle the size of boulders and huge ridges of tension in the shoulders. His red hair hung down in a shabby ponytail and the horns of his helmet were stained yellow by long nights spent in this foul air.

Zaphod was just thinking he might open with a little joke, when the silence was filled with a sudden uproar of sharp, helium-squeaky voices.

'What? That's it?'

'That's the big move?'

'How many years have we been doing this? You haven't learned a thing.'

Zaphod stepped quietly into the alcove, sneaking a peek under the crook of Thor's elbow.

The Thunder G.o.d was being harangued by a set of golden chessmen on the opposite side of the board. His own pieces were wooden and seemed cowed into silence.

The little golden knight was very belligerent. 'Come on, Thor. We've talked about this. Never leave your king exposed. That's fundamental stuff. b.l.o.o.d.y kindergarten.'

'Watch it,' Thor rumbled and the sound sent s.h.i.+vers running along Zaphod's spine. That voice, like a sleepy tiger growling from the bottom of a well; no wonder the ladies couldn't get enough.

'Or what?' challenged the knight. 'We are the ancient chess set of the Aesir. You can't kill us, we're as immortal as you are, and a lot older, I might add.'

'I can melt you cheeky blighters down and make myself a little p.i.s.s pot. How would you like that?'

The knight laughed. 'You can threaten us all you want, thunder girl, it's still checkmate.'

Thor drummed the table with his fingers. 'You chaps set yourselves up again. I have a little unfinished business to take care of.' And in a fluid motion he spun round on his stool and sent the very large war hammer that had been resting across his thighs spinning towards Zaphod's head.

The hammer froze half an inch from Zaphod's nose, then backed him into a corner like a hound herding a sheep.

'Nice hammer action,' squeaked Zaphod. 'I knew you weren't going to kill me.'

Thor turned his back. 'Get out of here, Zaphod, before I let Mjollnir do what he's wanted to do since that first accursed day we met.'

Zaphod tried to move forward, but the hammer b.u.t.ted him back against the wall.

'Come on, old friend. I've come a long way to talk to you.'

Thor grunted. 'Do you even know why you're here? Do you even remember?'

'Not precisely,' said Zaphod. 'But in fairness there's a gigantic hammer hovering in front of my face, and you know how much people love my face, so I'm a little distracted.'

Thor's shoulders slumped and he sighed. 'People used to love my face. I was adored until you came along.'

'You can be adored again. That's why I'm here, I remember now.'

'Go away, Zaphod. Take your life and get out of mine. The only reason I'm not killing you is that you can't fill the hole inside with bodies. That's something that I learned in circle time.' He clicked his fingers and Mjollnir sprang into his fist. 'Now leave, Beeblebrox. I need to call my anger management sponsor.'

'You can talk to us, buddy,' said a golden rook.

Thor rubbed his s.h.i.+ning head. 'I know that. I know I will always have you guys.'

'Should we kill the mortal?' asked a p.a.w.n. 'Rookie can crawl down his throat and choke him.'

'No. He's not worth it. But I do appreciate the offer.'

Since Zaphod did not possess any better judgement, he didn't even hesitate for the half-second it might have taken to ignore it. He climbed first on to a footrest, then a chair, then up the rungs of a wooden backrest until finally he was standing on Thor's table.

The G.o.d of Thunder sat hunched over his beer like someone was going to steal it. His eyes were downcast and his face was clumpy with emotion. There was a storm brewing. And in Thor's case this was not just a figure of speech; there was an actual miniature thundercloud boiling above his head, lightning bolts poking their heads from the vapour like lizards' tongues.

'Nice place,' said Zaphod, perching on an ashtray. 'It could do with a few big screens. Maybe a jacuzzi. Sometimes I like bubbles with my beer.'

<script>