The Gospel of Loki by Joanne M. Harris

spear?’ I said. ‘ And the compass that turns into a ship . . .’
    Odin nodded. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘But Brokk’s gifts are also remarkable. The hammer, Mjølnir, especially.’
    ‘What? That little stubby thing?’
    Odin gave a chilly smile. ‘It’s true, the handle’s a little short. But even so, it’s a magnificent piece, more impressive than my spear, or the Reaper’s runesword. And in Thor’s hands, it could mean the end of all our current defence issues.’
    Thor was holding Mjølnir protectively in the crook of his arm. ‘I agree. Brokk wins.’
    Odin turned to the other gods. ‘What do you think?’
    Frey nodded. ‘I say Brokk.’
    ‘Heimdall?’
    ‘Brokk.’
    ‘Njörd?’
    ‘Brokk.’
    ‘Balder?’
    Golden Boy sighed. ‘Oh, dear. Honestly, I’m afraid it’s Brokk.’
    Aesir and Vanir, one by one, voted Brokk’s gifts the superior. All except Sif, who was plaiting her new hair, Idun, who didn’t like weapons, Bragi, who was already working on my death anthem and Sigyn, who was watching me with a disturbingly motherly look, as if at any moment she might be impelled to put a soothing hand on my forehead.
    I was revolted. ‘Seriously?’
    Odin shrugged. ‘I’m sorry. You lost.’
    Brokk’s dark eyes lit up. ‘I win.’
    ‘That’s right,’ I told him. ‘You’re the best. Now about that silly wager—’
    ‘Your head belongs to me,’ said Brokk, pulling out his knife from its sheath.
    ‘I’ll give you its weight in gold instead,’ I said, retreating a step or two.
    ‘No deal,’ said Brokk. ‘I want your head. That way, anyone walking into my workshop will know how highly I value my reputation.’
    ‘How about double or quits?’ I said, taking another step backwards.
    He grinned, once more showing his disgusting teeth. ‘Tempting . . . but no. I’ll take the head.’
    ‘I guess you’ll have to catch me, then,’ I said, shifting into my Wildfire Aspect. In less than a second I was out of the hall, trailing smoke behind me. But Thor was even quicker than that, and he was wearing his gauntlets.
    ‘Oh no, you don’t. Shift back,’ he said.
    I struggled and cursed in Thor’s big fist, but knew I had no chance of escape and resumed my habitual Aspect. Now Yours Truly was covered in soot and clad in nothing but his skin. Not my finest moment.
    I appealed to the Old Man. ‘Odin, please . . .’
    ‘A bet’s a bet. You lost. It’s out of my hands,’ he said.
    ‘Frey? Njörd? Anyone?’
    No one seemed ready to intercede. In fact, I thought that a number of them showed signs of a callous enjoyment. The bastards were enjoying the show. Heimdall’s eyes were gleaming, and Týr had actually brought snacks.
    Thor dropped me at Brokk’s feet; beaten, exhausted, abandoned by all. But brilliance in extremis has always been one of my attributes.
    I put up my hands. ‘All right. I give up.’
    I heard Sigyn gasp.
    ‘Brokk, be my guest.’
    Brokk raised the knife. He pulled back my hair, exposing my throat to the wicked blade . . .
    ‘Er – hang on a minute,’ I said. ‘I thought our deal was for the head.’
    Brokk looked nonplussed. ‘Well, so it is.’
    ‘But you were going to slit my throat,’ I said, with feigned indignation. ‘Fair’s fair, the head belongs to you. But no one promised you the neck. In fact, the neck is out of bounds. Totally and utterly. Put as much as a scratch on the neck, and the deal’s off. A bet’s a bet. Don’t you agree, everyone?’
    For a moment I watched as Brokk struggled with this new information. ‘But how do I . . .?’
    ‘Not the neck,’ I said.
    ‘But—’
    ‘You set the stakes,’ I told him. ‘You were the one who insisted.’
    ‘But I can’t take the head without the neck!’
    ‘Fine by me,’ I said, and grinned.
    Brokk’s face darkened. Behind him, the Aesir and Vanir began to smile. Even Thor, who had a rudimentary sense of humour at best, was looking amused.
    Brokk turned to Odin. ‘That’s not