"Do you think you can give me a lift to the beach?" asked Cruz of Throttler. "I don't think that either of these dragons is receiving me."
Smitar shook his head, but didn't take his eyes off the huge dragon in the water below. "Sorry, Cruz. Uh . . . any advice on chatting up foreign women?"
The only intelligible words Bitar and Smitar had managed to exchange thus far with the female water dragon were their own names and one explanatory name: Liz. She must have met Nessie's big sister somewhere and told her about Bitar and Smitar.
"What about a serenade?" said Bitar. "Old Henri once said that music is a language that transcends all barriers. Except German, he said."
"Okay. You lead."
Smitar cleared his throat. "Like a mounting in spring-time!" he bellowed.
Bitar continued, "Like a knight and a florist . . ."
Wildlife exploded and fled from the woodland on the coastal headland. So did an armored horseman, clinging to his runaway steed. He didn't cling well enough though. A few seconds later he landed with a ringing clatter on the beach.
"Let's go and ask him some questions," said Cruz, knowing full well that he would have a language problem, but thinking it had to be better than the singing.
"Sure," said Bitar. "He's pre-gift-wrapped so we could give him to this lovely lady."
Smitar nodded. "We have a knight. Now all we need is a florist."
They swam toward the beach, followed by the lady-dragon. The stunned knight had already had a visit from Bes and Throttler.
Bes was sitting on his chest.
Throttler leaned over and said, "Why does the chicken cross the road?"
Cruz was close enough to hear him say, "I don't know."
"Throttler! Don't eat him!" yelled Cruz. "He speaks English!"
"No, he speaks Thracian," said Throttler.
"Puntish," said Bes.
Cruz took a deep breath. You had to get used to magic eventually. "We just got ourselves a translator. Ask him his name."
"Sigurd Dragon-slayer," said the knight.
Three large dragonish faces stared down at him from a distance of a few yards.
"Might be time for a name-change, dude," said Cruz.
Bes got off his chest and Sigurd stood up. He was a tall, muscular man. He looked down his nose at Cruz. "Do not think I fear your monsters, magician. They are illusions. I have already slain the last dragon."
Bes grappled Sigurd and threw him back down to the ground, and then jumped onto his chest. "You're irritating," he growled.
"They're imports," explained Cruz. "But the lady is local and she looks mighty pissed with you. Now I need to know. Where is Liz? And how come you understand and speak our language?"
"I have no knowledge of this Liz," protested Sigurd. "I went to rescue the Valkyrie Brynhild from the wall of flame. But she spurned me. Now I go in search of Odin or glorious war. And as for your accursed tongue, I speak and understand it by virtue of having eaten the heart of Fafnir the dragon. I can understand and speak to all the birds of the air and beasts of the field. Even these."
This guy had the ultimate in short life expectancies. Still, he was the only translator they had, for now. Cruz stopped him from becoming a three-way snack. Instead he fished out some parachute cord that had become rope in the way of the Mythworlds. While Bes kept Sigurd pinned, Cruz tied him up.
"Ask the big dragon how we find Liz," said Cruz. "And no trouble or I'll let Bes educate you properly."
Sigurd the once-dragonslayer and the now trussed-up dragon take-out did as he was told.
The female dragon replied melodiously, but in a foreign language. Sigurd translated. "She says, at the castle of Ran. She will show us the way."
Loki and his soldiers returned, laughing, with a sword. "With this, Frey can stand against Muspellheim," said Loki. "And is Surt going to be surprised . . . Hello." He pointed out to sea. "Look. Here is trouble. To arms!"
Liz looked, cheered and hugged the first person available, who happened to be Loki.
"Hold yourself back, wench," he said cheerfully. "Sigyn doesn't like it."
"She'll like this. We just got allies. Our friends."
Cruz was prepared for the cheering. What he wasn't ready for was the small dark tousle-haired boy running into him so hard that he nearly knocked him off his feet, while yelling "Papa!" and hugging as much of him as he could hold.
"I said you'd come," said Tolly thickly, from the shelter of Cruz's arms.
"Yep. I've come to take you all home."
Jerry and Lamont looked at each other.
Jerry shook his head. So did Lamont. "The kids go home. But we can't."
Lamont nodded. "You can't take me, Lord, because I can't go. I owe my soul to the company store. Come, let's explain this, while we feed everyone."
"Oh, good," said Bitar. He prodded the trussed Sigurd with his tail. "Can we start with him?"
Liz looked at the trussed victim. "Sigurd," she said. Then she turned to the two dragons. "Boys, I have a girl that wants to meet you. Only she's a bit shy so you must promise that you'll be nice to her. Her name is Jörmungand, and she's sweet."
"We met her. She's gorgeous," said Bitar, eagerly.
"But we can't talk to her," said Smitar.
"Don't be so shy," said Liz, amused. "She's dying to make your acquaintance properly. Just relax."
"She just doesn't speak our language," explained Bitar.
"And what do we talk to her about?" asked Smitar. "Is she interested in sports?"
"She's into literature," said Liz and had the rare joy of seeing two dragons say "Oh, help," simultaneously.
In the meanwhile Loki had wandered over to Sigurd. "And how is Fafnir's hoard?" he asked. "You know I won it originally from a river just near here. In those days it belonged to Andvari the dwarf." He looked at Sigurd's hand. "It seems that one part of it just came back to me."
The mead of inspiration, for all its unpleasant origins and its tendency to make one speak in verse, had one upside. It helped one link things together. Jerry turned to Sigyn as Loki bent over the unfortunate Sigurd. "Lady Sigyn, you said that you've known Loki forever."
"Close to," she said with a smile. "Of course we have only been married for a small part of that time."
"Did Loki's luck ever seem to change dramatically?"
Sigyn raised her eyebrows. "I suppose so. He was always lucky. But in the early days, if he threw a stone in a pool he'd hit a salmon. He was fun in those days. He laughs less now than he did."
"Lamont," said Jerry urgently. "Do you remember hearing in any of those sagas and skaldic verses you got Jörmungand to read for you, any mention of Andvari's ring?"
Lamont blinked. "Sure. Reginsmál. When Andvari had to hand over the ring because Loki insisted, he cursed it."
"He said 'No one wins joy with my wealth,' " said Thrúd.
Jerry cleared his throat. "Loki. Leave it." Loki was in the act of taking the ring from Sigurd's hand.
"But it is a fine piece of work," said Loki. "And it was mine once before, before we had to pay it over as part of the blood-price for Otr, that I killed in error."
"It is cursed. And in this Ur-universe the curse works—and it doesn't go away, just because the ring passed from your hands."
"But Odin bade me take it from Andvari . . . oh."
Loki stood as if frozen. Then he started to swear. He swore for a full three minutes.
At last he stopped, took a deep breath, leaned over and took the ring. "I might as well have it. Since I have the curse anyway."
"I think I might just have an answer," said Jerry.
"What? It won't help to destroy it, although doing that will stop the curse being passed on."
"You could give it back," said Jerry. "Give it to Andvari. Then he would either have to lift the curse, or be cursed himself. And while undoing the magic of another is difficult, undoing your own is easy."
Loki grinned wickedly. "Let's give him back his curse, then. Ran dear, can I borrow your net again?"
"Millions of people on Earth will thank you, Loki. You've just spared them from the dreaded Nibelungenlied."
Jerry felt that it was a good thing that he had the Mead of Inspiration that enabled him to speak so persuasively that no one could resist. Getting Bes, Throttler and Cruz to go home was taking all the skill that he could muster.
The dragons were a lost cause. Bitar and Smitar were bitten and smitten with love. Or lust, at least, and now they were armed with a translation spell. They were badly enough bitten to be trying their claws at poetry. And, to prove that love is blind, or at least severely shortsighted, Jörmungand, who poured scorn on most of the finest skaldic verse, was encouraging them.
So Cruz and Tolly, Ty and Ella were headed home.
"I'll be back with reinforcements. We're searching for snatchees, actually. But we can't do that properly if there's a war that will destroy everything and everyone."
Jerry refrained from pointing out that, from what he could establish, Norse Ur-Mythworld time ran at least five times as fast as it did back in the U.S. By the time the reinforcements arrived they'd be inside Asgard, if the plan he had kept close to his chest worked.
Lamont had had—and lost—a fight with Emmitt about going home. "Marie is not here to keep him on the rails," said the boy, stubbornly. "And we need Thor to win."
It was impossible to deny either of those points, or that Emmitt spending his time with Thor was anything but good for both of them. The boy was becoming very knowledgeable about tea, and how to split your enemy's skull with a two-handed axe.
The Krim device detected the loss in life-energy, again. It had a better grasp on what was happening now. It had not known that it was possible to manipulate the vibrations and energy of Ur-universe like that. For now it would seal off the energy level. Later . . . the mathematics was complex, but it might have a way to use Ur-myth creatures as footsoldiers back in their world.