Spear Quest

Gungnir, Odin's enchanted spear, was one of the treasures of Asgard. It had been
made by the dwarf smith Dvalin, the shaft was carved from a branch of Yggdrasil, the World
Tree, where the Norns dwelled. The head was made from some kind of mystical dwarf
metal, which only they have the knowledge of. It's name means "Swaying One" and it
always hits its mark, no matter how far the target. It will also return to the wielder's hand
after being thrown. The giants call the spear Far Slayer, and live in dread of it.

Gungnir had been won by me from Dvalin in a game of rune bones, at the same time
I'd come to bargain for Sif's hair. The dwarf and his brothers, who were sons of the famous
smith Ivaldi, had just finished making Gungnir, Draupnir the Ring of Increase, and Mjolnir
when I happened by to pick up the golden wig for Sif. They invited me for a drink and some
lunch, as is customary with a patron after he's closed a deal with them. Being a polite guest,
I couldn't decline.

As I ate and drank—though that sparingly, for dwarf ale is terrible stuff (unless
you're a dwarf)—I couldn't help noticing the beautifully crafted weapons and the ring. They
were displayed proudly upon velvet mounting plaques on the wall (for the hammer and the
spear) and a case (for the ring). I recognized immediately that they were magical items of
a quality unsurpassed by any in all the realms. At first I wasn't really that interested in the
weapons, since I'm not a warrior, but Draupnir caught my eye. Draupnir is a Ring of
Increase, meaning that if you know the command word, you can have it make an exact
replica of itself, which is a solid gold arm ring, worth a great amount of money. You can
command the ring to replicate itself as many times as you want, and therefore you'll never
run out of money. Who wouldn't want that?

Dvalin noticed where my eyes had strayed and couldn't resist boasting about the
wonderful items he and his brothers had made. I asked him how much he was willing to part
with Draupnir for and he said the ring wasn't for sale at any price. Ah, but what about a
friendly wager? I asked.

Now I knew full well that dwarves are compulsive gamblers. Once they start they
can't stop. Until they've lost their shirts, and even then they might be persuaded to keep
playing until they've sold themselves and their families into debt unto the tenth generation.
That being so, you'd think they'd be wonderful rune bone players, wouldn't you?

But dwarves are terrible at rune bones. They rarely ever have a winning throw. I,
on the other hand, am extremely lucky at rune bones. The dice love me. I had won much
of my fortune on the turn of those painted dice. And I didn't even need to cheat much. I
also knew when to stop playing, and usually managed to walk away from the table with all
or most of my winnings.

So I suggested a game of rune bones and at first Dvalin shook his head. "I've sworn
off gambling, Loki. Since last month. I got into too much trouble last time, and my father
swore if I touched a cup or rune sticks, he'd disown me. Then where would I be? Out in the
cold, no forge, starving. Nope, I can't risk it."

"Oh, come on, Dvalin. It's just one game. No pressure. You won't even have to bet
more than a silver piece. Just four throws and then I'll leave." I wheedled.

Dvalin was torn. "What'll you be betting?"

I removed a large amulet from my pocket. "This. Solid gold, with a flawless ruby.
It's enchanted to make the wearer look irresistible to the opposite sex."

"Huh." He stared at the amulet with undisguised longing. "I've been meaning to get
me a wife. I could sure use something like that." He tugged his beard, which was long, black
and curly. He wound it round and round his fingers. "But I promised . . ."

"Very well." I shrugged and took the amulet back. "I just thought as long as I was
here . . ."

"Wait. Just one game, right?"

"Sure, Dvalin. One game. Winner gets the amulet and the silver piece."

He chewed his beard, his eyes riveted on the amulet. I waited. Sweat trickled down
his face and I knew I'd won when he threw up his hands and said, "Oh, blessed granite!
What harm can one game do?"

So we settled down to play one game of rune bones. He won the amulet off of me,
which in turn whetted his appetite for more. He asked if I wanted to play one more game.

I agreed. We ended up playing all night, and each time he won, he wanted to play another
game, and I always said yes. By the end of the night, I'd won back many of the items I'd
wagered and Dvalin was growing desperate. So first he wagered Gungnir against half of my
pile of enchanted items and lost. I offered him a chance to win it back, and then he wagered
Mjolnir. He lost that too. Finally he threw in Draupnir, and to his utter horror, I won it too
on the last toss.

By that time he was very drunk and I decided to call it quits. I left him snoring away
in a puddle of ale. I wrote him a note, saying it had been fun wagering with him and as a
consolation prize I left him the amulet and the silver and gold I'd won off him. He was
going to need them.

Then I crept away from the forge and rode like a demon back to Asgard. I gave the
spear and the hammer to Odin as a birthday present. He later gave the hammer to Thor as
a coming of age gift. Draupnir I kept originally, but later gave it to Odin as well when the
royal treasury had become depleted after one of his wars with Jotunheim. I didn't really
need it anymore, I had more than enough gold to keep me happy for centuries, and Odin
promised if I ever needed a loan he would give it to me, no questions asked.

Gungnir became his most prized possession, the spear that never failed, and with it
he'd won all the major battles of his career against the frost giants of Jotunheim and the fire
giants of Muspelheim. He also won several victories against the Vanir lords, enough to give
him the reputation of being invincible while he held Gungnir. That wasn't quite true, of
course, but it added to his legend, and every good warrior needs to have a reputation to
terrify his enemies.

The last war we'd had with the Vanir, several centuries back, had been won when
Odin cast Gungnir at the great Vanir champion Rolf Thunderhand and slew him outright.
After that the Vanir soldiers lost heart and badgered their king to sue for peace. King
Gundar agreed, otherwise he'd have had a mutiny on his hands, and we'd had an uneasy
truce with the Vanir since then. The Vanir knew that as long as we held Gungnir, they'd
never defeat us in open battle.

Eventually, our enemies became so fearful of Odin's spear that it became known as
the Spear of War and Death, and as long as it rested in Aesir hands no giant or Vanir would
dare to make war upon us. Such was the legend of Gungnir.

Odin had long ago put the spear up on the wall of the mead hall, for when the realms
were at peace he became the Wanderer, and had no need for enchanted weapons. Then he
relied on his wisdom, wit, and his own magical powers of air and earth. My blood brother
isn't half-bad as a mage, though even he doesn't come close to matching my power, and
there is the handicap of his one eye. Even so, few want to tangle with Odin when he's in a
mood, and he generally has little to fear on those little excursions of his.

Now the Black Spear, as it is sometimes called, had rested in the mead hall of
Valhalla undisturbed for centuries. No warrior, not even Thor, would dare wield it without
Odin's permission. At Odin's request, I had also bespelled the entrance to the hall with an
alarm that would scream loud enough to wake Hel if any thief attempted to take one of the
treasures past the door. So we reckoned Gungnir was pretty safe and left it in its place of
honor.

When I received Thor's summons, I wasn't inclined to rush over and see what he
wanted. For one thing I had Belle to worry about. She was still terribly upset at Leif's
betrayal and I didn't want to leave her alone. But the servant was insistent and after I'd
made him wait a whole hour, Belle told me to just go and see what Thor wanted.

"Anything to get him off our back," was how she put it, her eyes still red and puffy
from weeping.

"You're sure you'll be all right?" I asked tenderly.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to drown myself in the pond or hang myself because
he took off," she said with a faint smile. Then it faded. "He's not worth committing suicide
over, the lying scorpion. Go see Thor, Father. I'll be fine. Well, not fine, but . . .you
needn't hover over me."

"I won't be long," I promised, giving her a hug. "Why don't you have some mint
tea?"

"All right. I can cry on your shoulder later, if I need to."

I followed the servant, who had a horse waiting outside tied to the hitching post.

Heror was out in the pasture. I whistled him in, then attached the lead rein to his halter for
a hackamore and swung up on his back. I didn't want to waste time with a saddle, and I
could ride Heror just as well bareback.

The servant eyed me askance, probably unaware I was an expert rider. "Come along,
sir. The Regent says he needs to speak to you on a matter of grave importance."

I urged Heror into a canter. Heror's canter was like another horse's gallop, and the
servant's mount paced us, though not without effort. "Did the Regent say what the matter
was?"

""No, sir. Only that he wanted to consult with you immediately." He shivered
suddenly. "He was in an awful temper this morning, though. Shouting and cursing. He
threw Mjolnir right through a window. But when Wulf asked what was wrong, he wouldn't
say anything except that he wanted to see you."

Thor having a temper tantrum was nothing new. He usually had one about once a
week, depending on how drunk he was. I pondered what could have set him off, then
shrugged. Whatever it was, he'd tell me about it soon enough.

We arrived at Valhalla, and I gave Heror to one of the grooms, instructing him to
walk him cool and then give him warmed water and a little oats as a reward. I usually didn't
have to spell out the proper care of a horse, but I didn't recognize this stable boy and I
wanted to make sure Heror was seen to properly. The last thing I needed was a sick horse.

When I reached Thor's suite, I found the volatile warrior pacing and moaning, he'd
long since passed the cursing and wrecking stage and had now moved on to the depression
stage. His straw colored hair was unkempt and his beard reminded me of a bird's nest. His
tunic was rumpled and smelled of old beer. Not exactly a sight to inspire confidence in a
ruler.

"My father's gonna kill me this time," he groaned upon seeing me. This too was a
familiar refrain. I can't count how many times I'd heard it before.

I locked the door and muttered a spell to ensure that no one could listen in on our
conversation, a necessary precaution, since the servants of Valhalla are gossip mongers
beyond compare. Then I seated myself in a horsehair stuffed recliner, crossed one boot over
the other and raised an eyebrow. "Let's have it. What've you done this time, Thor?"

"I didn't do anything! I didn't even realize it was missing until this morning. But that
won't matter. Once Father finds out I lost it, he's gonna have my head on a spike."

"What did you lose?"

"Gungnir. You know, Father's magical spear. The Spear of War and Death."

"I know what Gungnir is, Thor. I was the one who gave it to Odin, after all." I
reminded him. "But I saw it when I came in, up on the wall same as always. So how is it
missing?"

"See? It fooled you too. Go and have another look at that spear, Loki. Because it's
not Gungnir. It's only a copy. The real one's been stolen."

"Are you sure you haven't been drinking again?" I snapped.

"I haven't touched a drop this morning," he cried indignantly. "Now go and have a
look at the damned spear," he growled. "Please," he added, recalling that he needed my help
and if he wanted to get it he'd better be polite to me.

I decided to humor him. So I went to the hall and examined the spear hanging there.
On first glance it appeared all was well. But when I drew closer to it, I discovered that it no
longer radiated the intense aura of strong magic it usually did. I squinted at it, bringing my
Mage Sight into play.

And Saw that Thor was correct. This wasn't Gungnir, but an ordinary spear cloaked
in a strong glamour spell. I swore softly. I knew that spell, for I'd cast it myself many times.
It was one I used as a foil for my thieving activities. Whoever had cast it had been a mage
of no small caliber, for the spell had very nearly fooled me until I used Mage Sight. It was
also one I'd taught to Leif not three months ago.

I could still hear his voice, asking me innocently if there was a way to disguise
objects as well as people. I'd told him the truth and then showed him the spell. I'd played
right into his hands. I wondered how long he had planned this theft. Months, weeks? Or had
it been a spur of the moment thing?

One thing puzzled me still. How had he gotten it out of the hall? The alarm on the
door should have stopped him cold, or at the very least alerted the guards. It was not
something he would have been able to cancel out, since that level of ward was beyond his
talent. Only those with a keyword could circumvent the spell.

I went back up the stairs, silently cursing myself for a fool.

Thor was more composed now. He'd managed to comb his hair and beard into a
semblance of order and changed his clothes. He was also eating breakfast and slurping
down a gigantic tankard of mead with foam sloshing over the edges.

"Haven't touched a drop all morning, eh?" I snorted, sinking into a chair opposite
him. I helped myself to an apple and nibbled it.

"I haven't," he insisted, rather like a small boy trying to convince his father he hasn't
been shirking his lessons to go and play in the woods. "Except for now, of course. It settles
my nerves."

"Among other things," I said dryly. Normally I wouldn't have missed the
opportunity to twit him, but I wasn't in the mood after what I'd just discovered. I leaned
forward, my eyes bright as a hunting hound's, tossing the half-eaten apple on the table.
"When did you first notice the spear was missing?"

"This morning. I was bored and I started tossing Mjolnir around," he looked faintly
guilty, again like a schoolboy caught out in some misdeed. Was that how the window broke,
I wanted to ask, but I kept my mouth shut for once. "The hammer hit the wall near where
Gungnir was hung and the spear fell down. So I went to pick it up. That was when I noticed
the difference. It felt . . .wrong. The heft, the weight . . .Gungnir is a war spear, not a
hunting spear, and a war spear is heavier, and balanced differently. I'd held it before and
I could tell right away that something wasn't right. But it looked exactly like Gungnir. So
I decided to test it. The Black Spear never misses, no matter how bad you throw it."

"Tell me you didn't test it in front of the servants, Thor." I groaned.

"Of course not! You think I'm stupid?" I opened my mouth to reply. "Never mind.
I sent the two who were in the hall to fetch some more wood and then I threw the spear
across the room, at a chair. Now Gungnir would have slammed right into it, but I could feel
when I threw it that the balance was off. It missed. That's when I knew it was a fake."

"Then you put it back on the wall and sent for me," I prompted.

"Yeah," he took another drink of mead, wiping the foam from his beard with the
back of one massive hand. "I knew if anybody could figure out what had happened, you
could." He leveled a glare my way. "Unless this is one of your damn pranks? Did you take
it, Loki? Is that why you're so calm about this?"

I was unperturbed by his accusation. I'd been expecting it. That's always been
Thor's way, to blame another when something goes wrong. "I'm calm because it won't help
matters to go stomping round screaming and punching holes in walls. That won't help bring
the Black Spear back any faster. And no, I don't have it. What profit would there be for me
to take it? Stealing Gungnir is an act of war, and I like peace."

"You could have done it just to make me crazy," he grumbled, eating a sausage.

"I do that just by walking into the same room as you. It wouldn't be worth the
effort." I reclaimed my half-eaten apple and crunched on it.

"But you know who took it? It was done with magic, even I know that much."

I nodded slowly. "Very likely. But before I tell you who probably has it, I want to
know how he managed to get it past the ward rune on the door. That shouldn't have been
possible. Only three people here know how to cancel it, and your father is away and I was
home last night, consoling my daughter over a broken heart. The only other person who
knows the word is you, Thor." I folded my arms over my chest, eyeing him sternly. "So
what happened with the ward?"

He avoided my eyes. "I disabled it," he mumbled into his beard.

"You what?" I pounced on him like a cat on a mouse.

"I had to," he said defensively. "It was driving me nuts. Everytime I left the hall
with Mjolnir, it went off. It gave me a bloody headache. So I disabled it."

I hit my head with my hand. "Surtur's fiery ass, Thor! All you had to do was touch
the damn post and it would have recognized you as the rightful holder of Mjolnir and
stopped. I keyed it to recognise the bearers of the hammer, spear, and ring. You think Odin
disables the ward every time he leaves Valhalla with Draupnir?"

"Oh. I forgot," he muttered sheepishly.

I muttered several swear words under my breath. Odin, how could you leave such
a brainless idiot in charge of Asgard? "I see. You forgot. Just like you forgot to reset it that
night, correct?"

"Well, how was I supposed to know somebody would come along and take Gungnir
right off the wall in broad daylight? Nobody's supposed to touch the thing!"

"Nobody's supposed to cheat on his wife either, and it's done all the time," I flared.
"Why do you think we put the ward there in the first place? To prevent this from happening.
For centuries it's been safe from any Vanir thief or magician, until you come along!"

"But you know who took it. So you can go and get it back."

"It's not that easy, Thor. He could be halfway to Vanaheim by now."

"The thief was Vanir?"

"Yes. My former apprentice, Leif Malasteinsson," I admitted, wincing.

"Your apprentice?" Thor repeated. "Is that the same skinny Vanir snot I walloped
all those months ago? The one you bought from me the next day?"

"The same."

"I knew he couldn't be trusted, the sneaking little weasel. And you felt sorry for
him! I should have beaten him to death, then we wouldn't be in this mess. And you taught
him the magic he needed to pull it off."

"Which wouldn't have been possible in the first place if you hadn't taken down the
ward," I snarled, glaring at him. "I came looking for him yesterday and he'd never have
gotten away with it if the ward had still been active."

"You knew he'd taken Gungnir yesterday?"

"No! I came looking for him because he promised to marry my daughter and instead
he pulled a fast one and took off. With the spear and Bella's heart, the damned scoundrel!"

"You were going to let your daughter marry a Vanir bondslave?" Now Thor was
looking at me as if I'd gone mad.

"He wasn't a slave, he was my apprentice. And she was in love with him."

"What does that matter? He's a Vanir."

"You say that like it's a disease. He made her happy and she thought he loved her.
But it was all a lie. He used her to get close to me, learn what he needed, and then he used
my teachings to steal Gungnir."

"Ha! I was right. This really is your fault."

"Oh, shut up!" I snarled. "Who cares whose fault it is? We both screwed up and
now we pay the price. We have to get that spear back. You know what will happen if we
don't."

"Yeah. The Vanir will destroy Asgard."

"Not just Asgard. Gungnir unchecked could destroy everything. Whoever wields
it can bring war and death to all the realms, creating chaos wherever he goes."

"But you can get it back. All you have to do is find where the little bastard is holed
up and steal it back."

"All I have to do?" I gave a mirthless chuckle. "Thor, do you know how hard it is
to find a magician thief who doesn't want to be found? He could be anywhere by now. And
he might not even have Gungnir with him. A smart thief, which he is, would have hidden
the spear somewhere."

"But you said he was in Vanaheim."

"Norns give me patience! I said he might be in Vanaheim. He's probably not,
considering that would be the first place we'd look." I steepled my fingers together.
"However, there's something about Gungnir he wouldn't know. He can't mask the spear's
aura forever, not even with magic. It's too strong."

"All this talk of magic is making my head hurt."

"It wouldn't if you stopped swilling mead," I said acidly. "Getting drunk won't help
anything."

"Neither will staying sober. This is your fault, Loki. It was your apprentice who
stole the blasted thing using magic, so now you can figure out how to get it back. Before my
father finds out and kills me."

"And what will you be doing in the meantime, you oaf? Sitting here twiddling your
thumbs? Finishing off the rest of the mead in the cellar?"

"No. I'll be preparing for war." Thor said evenly. "Because if you don't recover that
spear, the Vanir will march on us. Probably allied with Surtur and his fire giants, since they
hate us more than almost anyone except King Gundar. If that happens we have to be ready
to defend ourselves. We might not be able to win, but at least we'll take some of them down
with us."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"It won't if you can find the spear. You're the best hope we've got. Send a magician
to find a magician. And a thief to catch a thief."

I did a quick mental calculation in my head. "It's been at least a day, possibly closer
to two, since Gungnir was taken. Which means the spell cloaking it will have started to
wear off by now. I should be able to pinpoint at least the general direction it's in, and the
realm it's been brought to. Have a servant fetch me a silver bowl filled with clear water,"
I ordered.

Thor obeyed, and soon the servant returned with what I'd asked for. Seeing magic
isn't my forte, but I was reasonably good at it. And Gungnir's aura was so powerful that
even an apprentice would be able to See it without too much trouble.

"Keep quiet. I need to concentrate," I said sharply when Thor would have asked me
something.

I closed my eyes and breathed in and out softly. Meditation is essential for Seeing
magic, especially for those without a strong Talent. I slowly counted out breaths, with each
one sinking deeper into that half-aware realm of spirit. Then I opened my eyes and breathed
upon the water. One breath. Then another. On the third breath the water misted, as if
covered by frost.

"Show me Gungnir, the Black Spear," I intoned.

The misty water swirled, dancing with reflected motes of light and power.

I leaned over. The mists parted and I Saw the aura of the spear. It pulsed like a
falling star, shredding the last wisps of the glamour even as I watched. "Where are you?"

The water grew clear and I saw the place where the spear now was. Inside of a chest,
in the back of a wagon. I narrowed my focus. It was a brightly painted wagon, reminding
me vaguely of the caravans of Alfheim, the elven realm that bordered Asgard. Could Leif
have taken it there?

Then the scene in the bowl changed and I Saw the tall waving grasses and blazing
vault of the sky that the wagon traveled through. It was one of many, all bearing the same
flamboyant coloring and the same lettering. Turner's Travelling Circus! was proclaimed
in bold yellow paint embellished with gold and blue splashes at the end of each letter.

I knew then that Gungnir was not in Alfheim. No elf was ever called Turner, and
they did not have circuses there.

Abruptly the vision vanished and I sat up and rubbed my eyes. The water in the bowl
was clear now, all the way to the bottom of the silver bowl.

"Well? Did you find it?"

"Yes. I can track it now by the feel of its aura. Though I don't know how in hell he
managed to put it there."

"Where?"

"Midgard. Somehow he crossed Bifrost and hid the spear in Midgard."

"But—but Heimdall guards Bifrost." Thor sputtered. "Nothing gets past him. He
can hear a pin drop twenty miles away. He's got the eyes of a hawk too."

"Regardless, Gungnir is in Midgard. And since spears can't grow feet and walk
there, that means Leif put it there. And to do that he had to cross the Rainbow Bridge.
Which means he slipped past Heimdall the Ever-Alert." I pointed out waspishly.

"How?"

"How in hell should I know? Do I look like Mimir of the Well? Why don't you pay
your brother a visit and ask him? Maybe he took a nap while on duty."

Heimdall is another of Odin's sons, one of the middle ones. We don't like each
other. He thinks I'm too flippant and don't respect the nobles of Valhalla properly and he
doesn't like the fact that I'm a thief. I think he's an uptight young snot who struts about like
he's got a stick up his ass and I once stole his hunting horn right off his belt at a feast. This
was right after he'd bragged to everyone that nothing escaped his keen eyes and ears.

"Lose something, Heimdall?" I asked, and handed him back his hunting horn.

He shot me a glare that should have killed me and went red with humiliation and
temper. It's never wise to brag like that in front of a master thief. I take it as a challenge
and nothing pleases me more than puncturing the inflated pride of some young warrior.
"Father should have all your fingers cut off!" he'd spat, hooking the horn back on his
belt. "Why he permits a baseborn thief to sit at the same table as the rest of us is beyond
me."

"Maybe to keep mouthy young hotheads like you humble," I shot back.

"I'm leaving. Being in the same room with a criminal just ruined my appetite," he
declared haughtily, then rose to his feet and stalked out of the hall.

"Poor kid!" I called after him. "Why doesn't he go home and cry about it?" The rest
of the hall erupted in laughter. "Oh, well. No sense in letting good food go to waste," I said,
then I pulled his portion over and ate it as well as my own. I never pass up free food.

Besides after that crack about cutting off my fingers, he deserved to go hungry.

Thor cleared his throat, bringing me back from my musing with a start. "I'll speak
to Heimdall, see if he remembers letting a Vanir boy past him. Meanwhile, you'd better
start packing, magician. Looks like you're going down to Midgard."

"No, really? I thought I was going to hell," I muttered sarcastically. "You let
Heimdall know I'll be crossing Bifrost in a day or so. I don't want him to give me any grief
about passes and all that crap."

"I'll tell him to allow you and anyone in your household passage to and from
Midgard." Thor promised. "And may the Norns grant us victory."

Normally I don't put much stock in prayers, but I figured this one couldn't hurt. We
needed all the help we could get.

When I returned home, I expected to find Belle still crying into her pillow over her
unfaithful suitor. Instead my daughter was busy sewing a tear in her good sealskin cloak and
applying a coat of grease to her boots. "Going somewhere?" I asked.

"As a matter of fact I am." She answered, tying off another stitch. "I'm going to hunt
down that lying snake and make him tell me to my face the reason why he left me. If he
thinks he can just up and leave like a thief in the night, and I'm just going to take it lying
down, he'd better think again!"

"You don't even know where he is."

"So what? I'll find him. I was always better than he was at tracking."

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," I quoted softly.

"Yeah. Exactly like that. By the time I'm done with him, he'll know hell's fury all
right."

I knew there was no persuading her otherwise, so I didn't even bother to try. Instead
I rummaged through a chest of travel gear, pulling out my boots and a chambray shirt and
denim breeches such as the men of Midgard wear in that region known as the Old West.

"Here," I tossed the shirt at her. It had a rip in the side of it, legacy of a steer's horn. "If you
wouldn't mind, I need you to fix that. I'll need that shirt where I'm going. Where we're
going, I should say."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the object of your quest and mine are in the same place, darling daughter.
Across the Rainbow Bridge. In Midgard." Then I told her about the theft of Gungnir and my
quest to retrieve it.

"He stole Gungnir!" she repeated in horror. "But that's an act of war. I'll bet that
was the real reason he was here, the rotten spy. And all the time he was wooing me he was
making plans on how to steal the spear. That's two black eyes I owe him now. Among other
things."

"While you're dreaming of beating the spit out of your betrothed, you'd better think
about getting Ava to help make you some clothes for Midgard. We don't want to stand out."

"How am I going to make a new wardrobe in two days?"

"We're not leaving in two days."

"But you told Thor you were going down in two days."

"I lied. We need time to prepare for this trip. It's not like taking a walk in the park.
We can't let anyone know we're immortal magicians. Or half-immortal in your case," I
amended. "And we can't use magic to disguise ourselves all the time. We're going to need
all our energy to find Gungnir and Leif."

"Do you know where it is?"

"I've got a rough idea. But I need to plan a cover story before we go down there."

"But can't we just, I don't know, teleport to where Gungnir is and steal it back?"

"This isn't a fairy tale, Bella. I need to know an exact location before I can teleport
to it. And the last time I saw Gungnir, it was in the back of a circus wagon heading west into
the prairie. And something tells me whoever holds the spear isn't just going to hand it over
to me."

"But doesn't Leif have it?"

"I don't know. This could be a decoy. But we won't know until we get there."

"I've always wanted to go to Midgard. Now I can finally practice all those languages
you stuffed into my head when I was a child. What do they speak where we're going?"

"American English. Nothing fancy, like French." I answered. "Now keep sewing.
I need to think about new identities for us. Something sufficiently flashy for show business
is what I need."

"Show business? Why?"

"Because once we get across Bifrost, we're going to do what every child of Midgard
dreams about doing. We're going to run away and join the circus."