Part 12 (1/2)

CHAPTER 11

Although Gunnar had spent most of the past four days in grumbling and polis.h.i.+ng his sword, there had been hours and hours when Odin had not seen him. The little man had a secret, but what it was he would not tell. ”For,”

he said to Odin, ”then it would not be my secret. It would be mine and yours, and I would own but half of it. Does a man give half of his flocks away?”

Odin was a bit hurt over his friend's behavior. He even wondered if Gunnar had taken a liking to one of the white-skinned slave-girls--for they were beautiful. Still, that did not seem like Gunnar. But you could never tell.

After all, he found himself quoting, there's no fool like an old fool.

Mixed up in this secret was a buckskin bag that Gunnar had brought with him from the s.h.i.+p. When Odin had inquired about it, Gunnar had replied: ”Magic.

A very old magic.”

That too was not like Gunnar. He relied upon his sword, since the Norse G.o.ds were usually busy with their own affairs. Those G.o.ds ate their rejuvenating apples every day and then went out like healthy boys to see what was happening; and though they meant well they usually were somewhere else when they were needed. Therefore, the use of magic bags and incantations was a lot of foolishness. But here was Gunnar fondling a tightly-drawn buckskin bag as though it held eternity's secrets.

”You ought to get yourself a witch-doctor's mask and a couple of hollowbones to whistle through,” Odin had told him scathingly.

”Never mind. Never mind. Old Gunnar will be there when they put out the fire and call the dogs. Now, you stay here in this room, Odin. And don't go looking after any of these slave-girls. They are too pretty. And you are young. After all, there's no fool like a young fool. So don't go wandering off. Just stay here and polish your sword and wait until I return. I think my magic will do a great deal this afternoon.”

”Touche!” Jack Odin thought as Gunnar departed. ”So he's been worrying about me and the girls, has he?”

Odin polished his sword and looked at the paintings. But the entire palace seemed to be whispering. An air of tension hung over it. The halls were quiet, where servants usually were busily going back and forth.

Once he heard shouts and the sound of fighting far off. There was a loud shot and a scream of pain. After that, the unusual quiet returned.

This was the sixth afternoon that he had spent on this enslaved world. Odin did not enjoy it. He tried to make plans to rescue Maya, but he had gone over those same plans many times before. The Taj Mahal was well-guarded.

There was an unshaded road that went from the city to it. Also, the road was usually crowded with pilgrims. He never knew whether they went out there in some strong belief that here was a G.o.ddess from outer s.p.a.ce, or whether they were forced to go. After all, Grim Hagen was clever--

He took a bath and changed clothes. Then Jack Odin read one of those books that Grim Hagen had stolen. It was a first edition of the Rubaiyat, the one with the jeweled peac.o.c.k cover, and it would have been worth a fortune back home. But here it was just another of Grim Hagen's treasures--it was dusty and neglected, and Odin wondered if he were not the first to take a look at it since Hagen had brought it here.

The windows were dark when Gunnar returned. Jack Odin sat by a single tiny light, and greeted his old friend in a glum and sour fas.h.i.+on. But Gunnar was in a gay mood.

”Look, I told you that my magic would do great tricks. See, the bag is nearly empty.” He held the buckskin bag high and it was much thinner than before. ”You waited, did you? Good, Nors-King. I had to make sure that no one came here while I was gone.”

”Just myself,” Odin replied. ”Now what--”

”Oh, I told you I had great magic in that bag. You shall see.” Gunnar returned to the door, opened it, and led a tall white-skinned slave into the room. A man of about thirty dressed in white uniform with some sort of insignia upon his shoulders. Odin had never bothered to learn the different gradations in Grim Hagen's slave-world.

”This man goes by the name of Piper,” Gunnar announced simply.

The man bowed and smiled nervously.

”And he is a Bro-Stoka among the slaves,” Gunnar continued.

Odin was about to reply that he didn't give a d.a.m.n if the man were a colonel or a two star general. But Gunnar hurried on to explain. ”A Stoka is a captain of a hundred. But a Bro-Stoka is a captain over ten Stokas and all their men. Not often does one advance so at an early age--”

Gunnar seemed to be b.u.t.tering up the man for some reason or other so Jack Odin decided to go along. ”I have never seen a Bro-Stoka so young,” he admitted. This was true, Odin thought, since this was the first Bro-Stoka who had ever been identified to him. And he wondered if maybe Bro-Stoka were not a local term for ”Ninety Day Wonder.” G.o.d knows he had seen too many of them.