Part 6 (2/2)
”It's Mountain Dew,” Radgrid said, a model of patience. ”It's very popular with my younger programmers.”
”Yeah, I'll have some more too,” put in the other G.o.d, Modi.
The need to show the brothers courtesy went beyond protocol. The two sons of Thor were stupid but incredibly mighty, and Radgrid couldn't afford to anger them. They had the trust of Vidar and Frigg, G.o.ds for whom Radgrid's respect was unquestioned. So she made sure not to laugh at Magni's and Modi's broad faces and the little pale racc.o.o.n masks around their eyes; apparently the G.o.ds had been visiting a tanning salon.
Radgrid buzzed her secretary to have the G.o.ds' drinks refilled. They finished them in one gulp each and belched.
Radgrid closed her eyes, counted to three, and opened them again. Something in her look made the G.o.ds sit up a little straighter, and that pleased Radgrid. She might not be an Aesir G.o.ddess, but she was a Valkyrie, a chosen servant of Odin, and she deserved their respect.
”So, here's the thing,” Magni said, jiggling the ice in his gla.s.s. ”We're concerned about your progress with this whole NorseCODE project. You've been doing this for, what, almost four years now, and what have you got to show for it? Eighteen recruits?”
”Nineteen,” Radgrid said tightly. ”Which is almost double the number of recruits found using the traditional methods in the same period of time.”
”Maybe so,” Magni said, ”but you're using more than double the resources of your more traditionalist sisters. You've got eight Valkyries devoted one hundred percent to NorseCODE endeavors, an equal number of Einherjar, and two dozen Asgardian slaves and servants who are too busy with NorseCODE to keep up with their normal duties. Not to mention all the gold it takes to keep you in test tubes and Mountain Dew.”
Radgrid frowned. She did have a gun in her desk drawer. She really could just belly-shoot the both of them. Though she doubted it'd be enough to kill them.
”Is Asgard tight for cash?” she asked, no longer caring if her displeasure registered.
”It's not about having the money,” Magni said. ”It's about the trouble of moving it to Midgard. It's not like you can electronically transfer a ton of dwarf gold from Asgard to Geneva. Magni and I are breaking our backs to handle the logistics that fund your little project, so if we're not getting sufficient results, well, that's a problem.”
”I see,” Radgrid said. ”Thank you for voicing your concern. Is there anything else? I do have matters requiring my attention.”
”Not anymore,” said Magni. ”We're taking over NorseCODE, my bro and I. You'll stay on as our executive a.s.sistant, helping us get settled and stuff. We'll be working out of LA, mostly, so you can keep your office here, but we're taking some of your staff; we want the best people working directly with us.”
He paused, waiting for Radgrid to say something in response. Instead, she reached into her desk drawer, took out a .45 Luger, and shot both brothers in the forehead. Her ears rang, so she barely heard what Magni said as he held his ham-size palm to his bleeding brow. She didn't suppose he was saying anything complimentary. She shot him again, and then Modi again, and she continued to squeeze the trigger until the magazine was empty, although she could already see that the bullets weren't penetrating their skulls. A misshapen slug from her last shot bounced on the carpet near her feet. The G.o.ds stood.
She wished she'd poisoned their Mountain Dew.
”b.i.t.c.h, we're gonna shred you,” Magni said, as Radgrid took a sword from the umbrella stand next to her desk. She didn't wait for the brothers to advance but drove a thrust toward Magni's right knee.
A tremor shuddered the walls. The floors vibrated, and the windows jiggled in their frames, and through the sounds of all the shaking rose a hum, ringing like a bell struck deep in the earth. The tones s.h.i.+fted, and though they didn't form words, they expressed an undeniable intelligence. Its will was clear enough, and Radgrid listened, as did the Aesir brothers.
Radgrid hadn't been born yet when Frigg exacted her pledge from everything in the universe, but there was no mistaking this voice, or its power, or its simple message: Magni and Modi would do whatever Radgrid told them to do, because Frigg had just said they must.
The voice faded, and the tremor subsided.
The brothers glowered furiously at Radgrid, ma.s.sive fists clenched. Muscles writhed in their wrists and forearms like boa constrictors, but they didn't dare touch her.
She put her sword back in the umbrella stand and went to the phone to raise her secretary.
”Ingrid, I need a car from the motor pool for Thor's sons.”
”Where are we going?” asked Modi, blood dripping down the bridge of his nose.
”One of my Valkyries is missing, and the Einherjar I sent after her is causing me concern. You're going to find them for me. And don't abuse your expense account. As you reminded me, NorseCODE needs to observe financial prudence.”
Once the brothers, sulking, left the office, Radgrid returned to her desk with the sunny realization that Frigg had just promoted her over Aesir. That must mean Frigg considered Radgrid worthy of being a G.o.d herself, which would be a nice position to be in after Ragnarok, when there'd be a new, green world to rule.
Now Radgrid could concentrate on devising a way to rule it all by herself.
MIST AND HERMOD returned to the black market, where they I found Grimnir chatting up a couple of prost.i.tutes. ”My lady friends say they've seen a guy with a dog matching your Aesir's description,” he said to Mist, and then he looked over her shoulder and saw Hermod for the first time. ”Oh,” he said, favoring Hermod with one of his more unfriendly glares. ”Huh.”
Mist made quick introductions, and as they walked back to the Jeep, she filled Grimnir in about the wolves on the beach.
”Kid, you shouldn't be getting involved in that level of thing,” he grumbled, settling in behind the steering wheel. ”You've gone so far off the reservation that I'm not sure how you're ever going to patch things up with Radgrid.”
”Later,” Mist said. She didn't want to have this argument in front of Hermod, who was fumbling with the seat belt in the backseat and trying to keep his face away from the malamute's wagging tail.
Grimnir keyed the engine. ”Fine, but you're not the one calling headquarters to give Radgrid updates. She's starting to find it suspicious that I haven't tracked you down yet.”
”Why should she be suspicious of you?”
”Because I'm too good not to have tracked you down yet. So, where to?”
Hermod directed them to Venice Pier, or the remains of it, saying he wanted to go there to contact an old consultant of Odin's. He had questions for her about Ragnarok.
Minutes later they were picking their way across the debris-strewn beach, stepping around snapped pylons and concrete slabs. City services, already overwhelmed, hadn't gotten around to hauling away the remnants of Venice Pier, and at low tide the wreckage provided small, private coves. Hermod led them to one, about twenty feet across. ”This'll do,” he said. ”Seawater, privacy, and an easy surface to write on.”
Mist picked up a few marooned starfish and frisbeed them back into the ocean, not sure if she was saving them or if they were already dead.
”You're a regular lifeguard,” Grimnir said.
Hermod patted his pockets. ”Anybody have a knife I could borrow?”
Like a magician conjuring a bouquet of flowers, Grimnir provided a frightfully large Bowie knife. Hermod regarded it skeptically. ”Thanks, but I've already got a sword.”
Mist offered her Swiss Army knife, which he accepted. ”I'll want it back,” she said. A gift from her sister, it was one of her few possessions that predated her existence as a Valkyrie.
Hermod hinged open the larger of the two blades and lowered himself to his knees. He drew a vertical line in the damp sand and then spread the line out into nine roots. Next, he drew an eye.
”It's some kind of rune spell,” Grimnir explained for Mist's benefit. ”The World Tree, and Odin's eye, which he sacrificed at Mimir's Well in exchange for knowledge.”
”I wonder who got the better end of that deal?” Mist said.
”I dunno. Odin's eye has seen a lot, I bet.”
Hermod cleared his throat. ”Do you mind? I need to concentrate here.”
He drew a half-decayed rune, which, from the little bit of rune lore Radgrid had given her, Mist recognized as a reference to death and to Hel. Hermod worked quickly as the tide gradually came in. When he finally stood and handed the knife back to Mist, he'd drawn a circle of runes that surrounded them.
”What happens now?” Mist asked.
Hermod shrugged. ”Magic is a little like pulling the pin on a grenade and then stuffing it down your pants to see what happens.”
”How rea.s.suring.”
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