Odin Blew Up My TV! (10 page)

After only a short fall, Lewis and Greg landed in a soft pile of the earth that had given way beneath them.

Greg spat dirt out of his mouth. “Well, that was unexpected.”

Lewis got up and brushed soil from his trousers. He bent down and poked around in the dislodged dirt until he found the rod, which had slipped from his fingers. He could barely see it in the faint light trickling down from above.

Greg got to his feet and gazed around him. They were in a narrow tunnel that ran in both directions. There was barely enough room for them to stand upright.

“Should we try to climb back up?” he wondered, glancing up at the hole above their heads.

“No, I think we’re supposed to be here,” said Lewis. “I think the rod made that hole open up.”

“That’s a fly trick, I must say,” said Greg.

“It’s pulling that way,” said Lewis, pointing down the tunnel.

Greg squinted. “I can see a light. Let’s go.”

The tunnel slanted steeply downward and they soon
discovered the source of the faint light. Set into the walls at irregular intervals were rocks the size of footballs that glowed with a bright orange radiance.

“Don’t touch it!” Lewis warned as Greg stretched a hand towards one of them.

“Relax,” said Greg, rubbing his fingers over the glowing rock. “It’s not even warm. Funny that, eh?”

“Listen, do you hear something?” said Lewis.

From up ahead came the rumble and whirr of machinery.

“Sounds like the noises the rides make at the fair,” said Greg, “but without all the laughing and screaming.”

They carried on until the passage came to an end. Cutting across it was a larger tunnel. In the floor a pair of deep grooves stretched off to the left and right. Clumps of glowing rock illuminated the passage in both directions.

“Which way now?” Greg asked.

Before Lewis could answer there came a rattling rumble from the left. Without a word they both pulled back into the shadows and watched as a crazy contraption came hurtling past as fast as a speeding bicycle.

It was a cart with four metal wheels that slotted into the grooves in the floor. Standing in the cart were two small bearded men, each holding the end of a handle that they were pumping up and down. This seesaw motion seemed to be powering the wheels. With a rattle and a rush the machine flew past and disappeared down the tunnel.

“Who were those guys?” Greg wondered.

“I would guess that they’re dwarfs,” said Lewis. “From what I’ve read, they live underground, mining ore and forging things out of metal.”

“I suppose we should go the same way,” said Greg.

“That’s what the rod says,” answered Lewis.

“Keep your ears peeled for any more of those carriages,” Greg warned. “I don’t want to get squashed.”

As they walked on, other grooved tunnels cut across this one, all of them echoing with the distant clatter of metal wheels. The passage widened into a circular space, with a large hole in the roof overhead. In the middle of the floor was a deep shaft plunging straight down into darkness, with only a narrow ledge running round the edge. Lewis and Greg shuffled carefully around, their backs pressed to the wall.

“Health-and-safety people would have nightmares about this place,” said Lewis, who had at one time considered health and safety as a career.

Even as he spoke there was a rumbling up above and a wooden platform came hurtling down. It shot past them at an alarming speed and they saw three dwarfs clinging to the sides as the platform vanished into the gloom below.

“That is the most dangerous lift I’ve ever seen,” said Lewis.

“This is a busy place,” said Greg, “like a cross between a factory and a fairground.”

Once they had made their way around the open lift
shaft, they headed along another passage until they eventually emerged into a vast cavern as big as a football stadium. They walked cautiously along a ledge that was set halfway up the cavern wall.

Down below, a pool of flaming liquid blazed in the centre of the floor, fed by several streams that flowed down the sides of the cavern from cracks in the rock. Around the edge of the pool dwarfs with long ladles scooped up fiery globs and poured them into stone urns, which were carried off in wagons pulled by moles the size of ponies.

Lewis noticed that the dwarfs all wore caps of red, blue, green, yellow and purple, which seemed to indicate the jobs they had been assigned to. The caps varied in size from small and flat to tall and pointed. This he supposed marked out different ranks among the dwarfs, as the ones in the pointed caps seemed to be giving the orders.

Overhead, lit by glowing stones in the roof, buckets on ropes were being winched across the chamber by a system of pulleys. Like soldiers on the march they emerged from gaps in the stone wall to disappear through holes on the other side.

It was a relief when they reached the far side of the cavern and the safety of a tunnel whose close walls felt welcoming after shuffling along the edge of a fatal drop.

“You’d think somebody would have spotted us by now, wouldn’t you?” said Greg.

“They’re all so busy with their work,” said Lewis, “they
don’t seem to be aware of anything else. You could probably drive a bus through here and nobody would notice.”

Lewis led the way down a side tunnel, which brought them into a chamber that appeared to serve both as a storeroom and a workshop. The room was divided into sections by free-standing shelf units packed with ledgers, tools and lumps of metallic ore. These formed a maze as complex as the network of tunnels they had already passed through. Stone pillars supported the roof and above their heads was an array of criss-crossing wooden walkways.

The rod was twitching so insistently, Lewis was sure they were close to their goal. At the sound of voices ahead, they peeked around the edge of a stack of shelves and saw three dwarfs in pointed caps gathered around a table. In the centre of the table, perched on top of a brass framework, sat a piece of the Odinstaff. The dwarfs were examining it through a variety of lenses and multifaceted crystals. They were also bickering furiously, their voices as harsh as the angry jabbering of blackbirds.

One was slightly taller than the others, which meant he was about the height of Lewis’ navel. His straggly beard trickled down to his belt buckle and he tugged at it as he spoke.

“I say we set fire to it and see what happens.”

“And when you’ve turned it into a pile of ashes, what do we do then?” snapped the next tallest.

“I suppose you have a better idea rolling around in
that rock sample you call a head,” said the first dwarf.

“I don’t know what you and Nodnol are arguing for, Fleebit,” said the third dwarf. “After all, it’s just a bit of wood.”

“Do not disparage wood, Triptok,” said Fleebit. “While it lacks the noble properties of metal or rock, it does have many uses.”

“And this is no ordinary wood,” said Nodnol. He leaned close to the rod and sniffed it. “Why, you can actually smell the magic on it.”

“I’ll thank you to keep your nose off my property,” snapped Fleebit.

“Your property?” said Triptok. “I think not, Fleebit.”

“I was the one who found the thing when it came tumbling down that hole,” Fleebit pointed out.

“Yes, and I am the one who caught you trying to hide it under your bed,” said Nodnol huffily. “As Senior Technician it is my job to examine the object and determine its nature.”

“You are forgetting,” Triptok interjected, “that as Cavern Supervisor, this whole business lies under my authority.”

“I believe the ancient and venerable rule of ‘finders keepers’ trumps either of your supposed claims,” Fleebit asserted haughtily.

“Well, if you are determined to make a dispute of it,” said Triptok with a sniff, “we could always hold a committee meeting.”

“Not another committee meeting,” groaned Fleebit. “The last one dragged on for five days.”

“And we still haven’t caught up with the lost production,” Nodnol added bitterly.

Lewis and Greg ducked back out of sight and conferred in whispers.

“Well, that’s definitely a bit of the Odinstaff they’ve got,” said Greg.

“So how are we going to get it off them?” Lewis wondered.

Greg looked about him and grinned as his eye lighted on a pair of pointed purple caps lying on a nearby table. “Don’t worry about that, Lewis,” he said, grabbing the caps. “Just you follow my lead.”

He stuck one of the caps on Lewis’ head and put the other on himself. He then stepped out of cover and strode boldly towards the three dwarfs, waving at Lewis to follow. Lewis groaned and went after him.

“It’s alright, guys,” Greg announced heartily. “We’ll take over from here.”

The three dwarfs turned and stared quizzically at the newcomers.

“And who might you be?” Fleebit demanded.

“We’re Earwax and Dustbin,” said Greg, “from Central Office.”

“Central Office?” said Nodnol.

“That’s right, isn’t it, Dustbin?” said Greg, jogging
Lewis with his elbow.

Lewis nodded, wishing he were a million miles away from this latest of Greg’s scams.

The dwarfs crowded together and conferred.

“What manner of creatures are these?” said Fleebit. “Surely not dwarfs.”

“They look like humans,” said Nodnol.

“And yet they are wearing the official caps of Senior Administrators,” Triptok pointed out. “We must respect that.”

“We’re here from Central HQ,” Greg pressed on, “the Command Centre. We’ve been sent by the head honchos to collect all magic sticks.”

“By what authority do you do this?” Triptok enquired.

“We are Senior Officers in the Department For Measuring Things To See How Long They Are,” Greg informed him. “So hand that stick over and we’ll be on our way.”

He took a step towards the table, but the three dwarfs closed ranks to block his way.

“Really, this is most irregular,” said Fleebit.

“We need to see your documentation,” said Nodnol.

“Documentation?” said Greg. “Are you kidding?”

“You must have an Interdepartmental Authorisation Scroll,” Triptok insisted.

“Come on, Dustbin,” Greg said to Lewis, “I’ll bet you’ve got some kind of official document on you.”

“Er… yes, Earfluff,” said Lewis, poking around in his pocket.

“Earwax,” Greg corrected him. “You keep looking. You’ll see, lads,” he told the dwarfs, “he’ll have it on him somewhere.”

While the dwarfs watched Lewis expectantly, Greg inched closer to the final piece of the staff.

Fleebit whipped out a short sword and pointed it at Greg. “You stay right there, Earwax,” he warned. “There are serious penalties for impersonating an official of the Subterranean Administration.”

Greg raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. “Don’t be like that,” he said. “We’re the real deal, one hundred per cent genuine – you take it from me.”

Lewis was still playing for time searching through his pockets for the non-existent document. He was wondering how long he could keep this up when he spotted something that made him start. Behind the backs of the dwarfs a rope was snaking down towards the table from an overhead walkway.

His eyes widened as a familiar figure slid down the rope and snatched the wooden rod from its stand.

“Susie!” Lewis gasped.

Too late, the dwarfs spun round to see the girl clamber back up the rope to where Sigurda waited on the walkway.

“Get a move on, you two!” Susie called to the boys. “There’s a ladder over there!” 

The ladder Susie was pointing to ran straight up to one of the overhead walkways. Lewis and Greg tossed aside their hats and made a dash for it. Nodnol pulled out a horn and blew a single harsh note. Within seconds answering blasts were echoing down the subterranean tunnels.

“Sounds like that was the alarm,” said Greg, leaping onto the ladder and scrambling up.

Lewis hurried after him up to the wooden walkway where Susie and Sigurda were waiting.

“Spinny,” said Greg, “you are just the best at showing up out of the blue.”

“I know, Greg,” Susie grinned. “That’s number three on the list of reasons why you love me.”

“Love?” Greg exclaimed in horror. “Spinny, if I still had my ninja book, I’d have a few choice words for you!”

“This way!” Sigurda commanded.

She ran along the walkway through an opening and into a long tunnel with the three youngsters close on her heels. Horn blasts continued to echo all around mixed with angry dwarf voices and the patter of running feet.

“How do we get out of here?” asked Lewis. “We must be nearly a mile underground.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Susie. “We already scoped out an exit.”

At the end of the tunnel a wooden cage was suspended inside a shaft. They bounded into it and Susie hauled the gate shut behind them.

Sigurda pulled a lever in the wall and suddenly a pair of boulders dropped down on either side of them. These were attached to the cage by ropes and pulleys and the dropping weights sent them rocketing up the shaft towards the surface.

“How did you get here anyway?” Lewis asked as the cage rattled up the passage.

“Well,” said Susie, “to cut a long story short, after we got this piece of the staff” – she showed them the section she and Sigurda had already obtained – “it took control of the boat we were in and sent us zooming into an underground lake lit up by orange rocks. As soon as Sigurda and I got ashore, the boat and its grouchy owner disappeared. The staff led us through all these tunnels and caverns until we found the final piece – and you two.”

Above their heads a mechanism popped open a hatch and they shot up into the open air. They bundled out quickly, and as soon as the cage was empty, the system of weights and pulleys yanked it back down. The grass-covered hatch slammed shut, concealing the secret entrance to the dwarfs’
underground world.

They had surfaced in the middle of a range of low, bare hills dotted with rocks and dry gorse. Mount Daggerflash towered some miles beyond the hills.

“We should get out of here,” said Lewis anxiously. “I don’t like to think of those strange characters running around right under my feet.”

“Yes,” Sigurda agreed. “Haste is our best ally now.”

So saying, she led the way westward with strides so long the youngsters could barely keep up.

They had not gone far when a hillside directly in front of them swung open like a huge garage door. A mob of dwarfs swarmed out, brandishing spears, swords and daggers, all of them chanting, “The dwarfs, the dwarfs, shall never be defeated!”

Fleebit was their leader and he pointed his sharp little sword at the intruders. “You have stolen our property,” he accused, “so now, in payment, we will take all three of those magic sticks. Lay them down or face the wrath of the dwarfs.”

The dwarf mob let out another cry of, “The dwarfs, the dwarfs, shall never be defeated!” to back up his demand.

It seemed to Lewis that they didn’t have much choice. Small as the dwarfs were, they outnumbered the four of them by a good ten to one. He and Greg exchanged anxious glances with Susie, wondering what they should do. While they hesitated, Sigurda drew her sword and stepped boldly forward.

“Insolent wretches!” she roared at the dwarfs. “I am a warrior maid of Asgard, captain of the Valkyries, and I obey only the Lord Odin. If you stand in our path I shall mow you down like grass, and water the ground with your blood.”

Fleebit turned pale and the whole dwarf host shrank back.

“You… you… can’t talk to us like that,” stammered Fleebit, struggling to recover his nerve. “It’s completely irregular.”

Behind him the other dwarfs nodded in agreement, though none of them looked minded to back him up.

Sigurda slashed the air with her sword and the dwarfs retreated with a whimper. “Return to your rat holes!” she commanded them.

The dwarfs began stumbling back to the open hillside, muttering fearfully among themselves.

“Sigurda,” said Susie admiringly, “you are absolutely
EPIC
!”

“You know, Lewis, I think she’s going to pull this off,” said Greg.

As he nodded numbly in agreement, Lewis was suddenly aware of a shadow passing over them. He looked up just in time to see Falkior, Loki’s great bird of prey, swooping down on them.

“Look out!” he cried, diving to the ground.

Sigurda started to turn, but too late. The giant bird’s claws clamped around her arms and hoisted her helplessly into the sky.

“Sigurda!” Susie cried, reaching up after their friend.

Falkior climbed swiftly towards the clouds and they could see the Valkyrie struggling vainly in its iron grip. Vast wings beating the air, the great hawk flew eastward, back in the direction of St Andrews.

Lewis scrambled to his feet and watched the bird disappear into the distance with the helpless prisoner. The dwarfs too were staring up at the sky, stunned by the sudden appearance of the giant hawk.

“Right,” said Fleebit, recovering his nerve, “now that the warrior maid has gone, we’ll have our property.” He started towards the three youngsters and the other dwarfs gathered behind him.

“Leave this to me,” Greg told Lewis and Susie. “If Sigurda can scare them, so can I.”

He stepped forward defiantly and waved the dwarfs away. “Right you lot, clear off,” he said, “or I’ll have the police on to you for disturbing the peace.”

The dwarfs hesitated only for a moment then resumed their advance.

Greg raised a warning hand. “Think about what you’re doing here,” he cautioned them. “I’ve got a cousin in the SAS, two friends who are professional wrestlers, and I live next door to Iron Man.”

The dwarfs pressed forward and the three youngsters backed off step by step.

“Well, I gave it my best shot,” said Greg. “Anybody else
got any ideas?”

The dwarfs were now in a very ugly mood, spurred on by their shame at how Sigurda had intimidated them.

“I don’t think anything will stop them now,” Lewis said.

Suddenly the dwarfs came to a complete standstill and started to shrink back. Lewis could see fear on their faces. All at once they howled in terror and fled back into the hillside, which crashed shut behind them with a boom.

“How about that!” Greg beamed. “It looks like my speech worked after all.”

“I don’t think so,” said Lewis nervously. “I think there’s something behind us.”

“Lewis is right,” said Susie. “Something’s scared the living daylights out of them.”

Very slowly the three of them turned to face whatever it was that had terrified the dwarfs.

Standing before them was the ugliest and most bizarre creature they had ever seen. It stood on six slim legs with a dark segmented shell covering its body and its long tail. It waved two huge claws and the antennae above its beady eyes twitched excitedly.

“What the…?” Greg gasped.

“It’s a lobster,” said Lewis, astonished, “a giant lobster!”

The lobster’s mouth moved and they heard a familiar voice.

“Hi there, Elvis. It’s really great to see you guys again.”

“Dave!” Lewis exclaimed. “Is that you?”

“As sure as it always rains on a Scottish barbeque,” said the lobster.

“Well, this is one for the books,” said Greg. “What happened to you?”

“Look, I’m as curious as anybody,” said Susie, “but shouldn’t we get out of here before the dwarfs get their nerve back and decide they fancy shellfish for tea?”

“Right,” said Greg. “Let’s leg it.”

Once they had put a couple of miles between themselves and the dwarfs, they found a hollow among some rocks and sat down for a brief rest.

“Loki must have sent his pet budgie just to grab Sigurda,” said Greg. “It didn’t seem interested in the rest of us.”

“What do you think he wants with her?” asked Lewis.

“I’m sure she’ll be okay,” said Susie. “Remember, Loki kind of has a thing for her.”

Even while they talked about Sigurda, they were all staring at the lobster.

“Alright, Dave, maybe you should explain,” said Lewis. “How did you turn into…
this
?”

The feelers at the sides of the lobster’s mouth twitched as though it were trying to smile. “Yeah, funny story that,” it said.

And Dave told them all about it.