The Gnome's Gneiss

                             A NOVELET BY
                        KENDELL FOSTER CROSSEN

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                     Startling Stories, May 1952.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]




                                   I


A mood was upon Kevan MacGreene. As of the moment, he did not consider
this the best of all possible worlds. In fact, many arguments to the
contrary were running through his head--on shoes of iron, it seemed.
Only twenty-five years of age, Kevan MacGreene was foot-loose and fancy
free, but his thoughts were cast in gloom and darkly shaped.

It was 1952 and the threats of atomic warfare appeared almost daily in
the newspapers. The cost of living continued to go up. The prisons and
asylums were overflowing. Congress, having investigated everything
else, had formed a Goober-Natural Committee (fifteen governors had
misunderstood and resigned the first day it was announced) and were
knee-deep in peanuts. The Soviet representative had just stormed out
of another U.N. meeting. The American representative wanted to lock
the door so he couldn't get back in. A columnist had written that
"the world is going to hell on a street car" and had been forced to
apologize to seven railroad companies and a major-interest-owned bus
line.

But it was because of none of these things that Kevan MacGreene walked
the streets of lower Manhattan and pondered on the frailty of Man. It
was now only a few days since he had received his draft notice. Far
from objecting, he had welcomed the opportunity to become a hero--even
a radioactive one. He had quit his job in Macy's complaint department
and the night before he'd spent all of his money financing a binge for
himself and a few select friends. It had lasted until morning and then,
complete with hangover, Kevan MacGreene had reported for his physical.

It was while being questioned by a fatherly doctor, who, it turned out,
was a psychiatrist, that Kevan made his first slip. Usually he was more
alert, but the hangover was demanding attention and he automatically
admitted that he often heard voices. Under the pressure of questioning,
while wondering if his head was really as hollow as it felt, he went
into some detail on the voices and what they said. By the time he
realized what was happening it was too late. He was classified as an
unstable personality and was being ushered through the door reserved
for those who weren't wanted.

       *       *       *       *       *

Broke, hungry, and considerably vexed at being called an unstable
personality, especially since everything now combined to make him feel
like one, Kevan MacGreene walked through the streets of Greenwich
Village. It was in this mood that he arrived on the corner where
Fourth Street unaccountably crosses Twelfth Street. Standing there for
a minute, he happened to glance up and see the sign over one of the
buildings:

                         TROUBLESHOOTERS, INC.

Below that, in smaller letters, it said:

                              _Come in._

Kevan MacGreene went in.

The girl at the desk was lovely beyond words. Her hair was like black
velvet and her eyes were an emerald green. Just looking at her made
Kevan MacGreene feel better.

"I have some troubles I'd like shot," he said, saying the first thing
that came into his aching head.

The girl smiled with a distant friendliness. "Do you mean you'd like to
employ us?" she asked.

"No," said Kevan MacGreene, realizing what it was that he did want.
"I'd like you to employ me."

"I'm sorry," the girl said, "but I'm afraid there are no positions
open--none, at least, that you could fill."

"But I need a job," Kevan said. "I--I gave up my last job because I
thought I was going to be drafted. Now I have no job and I'm broke. And
the draft board rejected me because I hear voices."

For the first time, the black-haired girl looked interested. "What kind
of voices?" she asked.

"Thin little piping voices," Kevan said. He didn't know why but he
felt that she would understand. "Most of the time I can't understand
what they're saying. Sometimes they sing. Like this." Wincing from the
pain in his head, Kevan sang in the highest pitch he could reach. "_Gie
brownie coat, gie brownie sark, ye'll get nae mair o' brownie's wark._"
He stopped and looked at the girl. Her smile was warmer.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Kevan MacGreene."

She nodded. "I'll see," she said. She picked up the phone and pressed
a button. He could hear the faint buzz in the inner office. "There's a
young man here," she said into the phone, "looking for a job. He says
his name is Kevan MacGreene and that he hears voices." She listened a
minute and then put the phone down.

"He'll see you," she said. "Go in." She indicated the door beyond her
desk.

Kevan stopped beside the desk and glanced down at the hair that was
like a raven's wing. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Kathleen Culanna."

"Ah," he said, "I knew there was a reason for the green in your eyes
and the harp's song in your voice. Will you have dinner with me
tonight?"

"Go along with you," the girl said, but there was no rebuke in her
voice. "He's waiting for you."

"Will you have dinner with me tonight?"

"Ask me when you come back," the girl said. "If I'm still here, I will."

"I'll be back," he said. He walked through the door and closed it
behind him. He stopped there, gazing at the man who sat at the desk in
the small room.

He was a short man, with a face Kevan thought of as jolly even though
it seemed pinched with worry. Tufts of golden blond hair ringed a bald
head, resembling a halo. He looked up from his cluttered desk and
studied Kevan.

"MacGreene, is it?" he said finally. "Where were you born?"

"In New York," Kevan answered, wondering at the question.

"And your father?"

"Fergus MacGreene. He was born in the old country, Ulster, I think,
but he became a citizen as soon as he could after arriving here." He
wondered if this was some sort of loyalty check.

"You hear voices, do you?" the little man asked.

"I do," Kevan said shortly, thinking that it had been a mistake to
mention it. "As did my mother, and her mother before her. But it's
never interfered with a job I've held."

"Of course not." The worried expression was fading from his face.
"You're hired. My name is Brian Shanachie."

"But--but I don't understand," Kevan said. He was feeling confused and
he wasn't sure whether it was the hangover or the company. "Don't you
want to know my qualifications?"

"You've already told me," said Brian Shanachie. "Your name's MacGreene
and you hear voices. What more could I ask--even though it's true I'm
in a bit of a pinch? Here I was, with every one of my men out on a job
and me with an emergency on my hands, when, Finbheara be praised, in
you walked. You'll be quite ready to go to work at once?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Kevan MacGreene was more confused than ever, but a generous streak of
stubbornness came to his aid. "You may be satisfied," he said, dropping
into the chair in front of the desk, "but I want to know something
about the job before I take it. What does Troubleshooters, Inc., do?"

"You don't know?" the little man asked in surprise.

Kevan shook his head, an act which painfully reminded him of his
headache.

"Oh, well," sighed Brian Shanachie, "but it'll have to be brief. There
is an emergency. Tell me, Kevan MacGreene, you know of the Little
People?"

It was Kevan's turn to be surprised. "Gnomes?" he asked.

"Gnomes, dwarfs, brownies, leprechauns, fairies, druids, apuku, the
Wanagemeswak, it matters little what you call them. You know of them?"

"My mother used to tell me about them," Kevan said, "but she was a
woman without education. I've been through college and while they are
interesting legends--"

"Agh!" interrupted Brian Shanachie. "There's the trouble with the
world. Too much education in the wrong things. If it weren't for people
like you, Kevan MacGreene, who've given up the old ways, I wouldn't
have to be working here, slaving away all hours--"

It was obvious that he was working himself into a rage, so Kevan
interrupted. "Okay, so there _are_ Little People," he said. He thought
he might as well humor his prospective employer. He glanced at him more
closely. "Don't tell me you're one? You're too big."

"Too big for a gnome, too small for a mortal," said Brian Shanachie,
his humor restored, "No, I'm neither. My father was the son of
Finbheara himself, but my mother was a mortal. So I am well suited for
this job."

"Which is what?"

"I'm telling you," said Brian Shanachie, with a scowl. "In the
days when people had enough sense to believe in the Little People,
diplomatic relations were handled on an individual basis. The
individual who aroused the anger of a gnome would himself put out an
offering of milk, with perhaps a wee drop of brandy in it, or offer him
a new cloak and hood. But with the coming of such fine education that
the Little People were forgotten there was a problem. It was then that
my little organization was started. More properly it should be known
as the Bureau of Mortal-Gnomic Adjustments, but there are too many
non-believers who would only plague me with their silly questions, so I
called it Troubleshooters, Inc."

"But what do you do?" Kevan asked. He had a strange feeling that the
more it was explained the less he understood.

"Adjust matters between mortals and gnomes, of course," snapped the
other. He picked up some papers on his desk. "Now, take the case I'm
assigning you to, the emergency--I'm putting it in the files as The
Case of the Gnome's Gneiss...."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Gneiss," said Brian Shanachie with some irritation. "G-N-E-I-S-S.
Everybody certainly knows what gneisses are."

"I don't."

"College education," the little man sneered. "Gneisses are rocks
made of thin layers of minerals. Now, a gnome, or a dwarf, if you
prefer--he's been called both--named Alviss is one of the finest
gneiss-makers in the world. Recently, he had just finished what he
considered his masterpiece, a gneiss composed of some fifteen different
minerals, and all of fifty feet long, when directly over the spot where
it was located an atom bomb test was held. You can imagine the results.
The gneiss was cracked beyond repair. Alviss, with certain provocation
you must admit, is angry. In fact, he grows angrier every minute and I
understand that he is on the verge of declaring open war against all
mortals."

"So what?" asked Kevan. "What could he do?"

"What could he do?" echoed Brian Shanachie in horror. "Why, there is no
end to what he could do. Sour milk, make cows go dry, put changelings
in the place of mortal infants, make the hens lay square eggs. Water
might run uphill, hens would crow and roosters cackle, and the sun set
in the east. And that, mind you, would be only the work of Alviss. If
the others of the Little People helped him, and fully half of them
would have to, then you can imagine the chaos.

"No, it's obvious Alviss must be appeased and since the ones who
dropped the bomb will not do so, it is up to us to avert the war."

"Why not just explain to--er--Alviss that it was all a mistake?" Kevan
suggested.

"'Twouldn't do. Alviss is a sensitive one, as you will see, and it'll
take more than that to make him forget his grudge."

"As I will see?"

"Certainly," said Brian Shanachie, nodding his head. "It is you who
will go to see Alviss."

       *       *       *       *       *

It wasn't that Kevan MacGreene was willing to so quickly forego his
skepticism and embrace a belief in the Little People, but his head hurt
too much to argue and he was in a mood to take what came along and let
things work themselves out.

"But what do I do after I see him?" he asked.

"Find out what will keep him peaceful and, if it's within reason, give
it to him. If it isn't, then you may have to appeal to the Council
of Gnomes, or even to the four kings. I'll be giving you this--"
Brian Shanachie came around the desk and fixed what seemed to be a
small metal flower in the lapel of Kevan's coat--"by which you can
discuss any settlement with me. All you have to do is shout my name
and the contact will be made. It is also possible for me to deliver
to you, by teleportation, certain mortal materials when they will aid
in adjustments. I remember one time when peace was made with Sindri,
over the matter of a mortal who tried to steal his treasure, with
the presentation of a radio.... But now get along with you, Kevan
MacGreene."

"Just a minute," said Kevan, "how much does this job pay?"

"Enough in mortal money that you'll have no complaint," Brian Shanachie
snapped. "Be gone with you."

"Where?" Kevan asked. "I mean how do I get there?"

Brian Shanachie looked surprised, then nodded. "Of course, you wouldn't
know, would you? I best look it up, to be sure that we still have it
right." He took a thick book from his desk, thumbing through it rapidly
while muttering to himself. Then he nodded again. "Yes, 'tis still in
the proper alignment. And all you have to do, my boy, is walk through
yon door."

For the first time, Kevan noticed another door in the office near to
the chair in which he sat. He stood up and looked at it uncertainly.

"But be sure and watch the first step," said Brian Shanachie. "It's
been a bit broken since the time Regin came to see me and stomped on
the step instead of knocking."

"But how do I find Alviss after I get through the door?" Kevan wanted
to know.

"Ask," said Brian Shanachie. "You can ask anyone--no, but better,
perhaps since you're a new employee you'd best first go and pay your
respects to Finbheara, Iubdan, Geanncanac, and Daoine Glas, the four
kings. They'll be sure to know where you can find Alviss. Run along
with you."




                                  II


Taking a deep breath, Kevan MacGreene put his hand on the door knob and
opened it. Then he stepped through.

He felt his foot strike the edge of something solid and then he was
falling. He tried to twist and grab, but there was nothing to grab.
Down he went--falling, it seemed, slowly and interminably--until
finally he landed with a thump. Looking around, he realized he was
sitting on the ground of a forest. There was an eerie look to the trees
around him, their limbs twisting skyward, their leaves looking like
green woven silk.

Sitting there on the ground, Kevan MacGreene became aware of the most
startling thing. His hangover was gone as if it had never existed.
That, more than anything, made him decide to believe that he was in the
land of the Little People. He'd had many a hangover, but never had one
vanished so quickly and painlessly.

"It's a pity you wouldn't watch where you're falling," a voice said
peevishly.

Kevan looked around, but saw nothing except the trees. "Where are you?"
he asked cautiously.

"Right here," answered the voice. And it did sound as though it was
right beside him.

"I can't see you," he said.

"Of course, you can't," snapped the voice. "That's because I'm looking
at you. Oh, all right, I'll turn, although I don't know why I should."

Then in front of Kevan's eyes there suddenly appeared a little man, no
more than two feet high. His face, in profile, was sharp and pointed.

"How did you do that?" Kevan asked with interest.

"Do what?"

"You were invisible. Then suddenly you were visible."

"I wasn't anything of the kind," the little man said. "I was merely
looking at you. When I'm looking at you, you can't see me. When you can
see me, I can't see you--but I don't start making nasty cracks about
you being invisible."

"Why?"

"Because I'm good-natured," grumbled the gnome.

"No, I mean why can't I see you if you're looking at me?"

"Because I'm one of the Wanagemeswak of Penobscot," the gnome announced
with pride. "I'm so thin that mortals can only see me when I'm in
profile. So when I turn to look at you, you can't see me. Like this."
The gnome's head slowly turned to face Kevan--and then it vanished.
"Now do you understand?" asked the voice.

Kevan MacGreene blinked his eyes rapidly and then switched his gaze to
one of the more solid-looking trees.

"No," he said, "but don't try to explain it to me again. I'm afraid I'd
only understand less than I do now. But, if you will, you can tell me
how to find the four kings."

"Oh, sure," said the voice. "Just go straight down this path and turn
left at the third snail. You can't miss it after that."

"Thanks," said Kevan, waving one hand toward the spot where he thought
the gnome was. He set out in the direction indicated, keeping a sharp
watch-out for snails.

As Kevan MacGreene walked through the forest, he became aware of
the sounds about him. From every side flooded the songs of birds.
Somewhere ahead of him two squirrels barked indignantly at each
other. He caught sight of huge antlers as a deer crashed through the
underbrush to his right. But having lived all of his life in New York
City, Kevan was not attuned to these new sounds.

"Noisy place," he said to himself. "It's interesting to visit a place
like this, but I'd certainly hate to live here."

After what seemed like a long walk, he sighted his third snail and
turned left. For a moment he considered speaking to the snail,
remembering that in all the stories he'd heard speech was standard
equipment for all forms of life in fairyland, but he refrained because
of the petulant look on the snail's face.

The new path seemed well-worn and he strode along at a fast pace. It
wasn't long before he saw an impressive castle ahead. Long before he
reached it, he could hear the sound of loud and quarrelsome voices
coming from it. He wondered if this was the beginning of the riot he
was to quell and hesitated. But only for a minute.

"I'll be damned," he muttered under his breath, "if any two-foot
fugitive from a Walt Disney movie is going to scare me." He set his jaw
grimly and marched on.

       *       *       *       *       *

When he entered the castle, Kevan MacGreene found himself in what was
obviously the throne room. There were four elegant thrones, all empty.
From in front of the thrones came the loud voices, even more shrill
now that he was nearer. His eyes became accustomed to the dim light
and Kevan saw four little old men. They were alike as four peas in a
pod. None of them was more than two feet in height, although each wore
a peaked hat which gave the illusion of adding eight or ten inches.
Each of them had a long white beard, almost reaching the floor. At the
moment, four faces were screwed up in rage, while four fists shook
themselves in the air.

"Isn't it a grand brawl?" asked a voice near Kevan. He turned and saw
another gnome, his eyes fixed admiringly on the four old men.

"What's wrong with them?" Kevan asked.

"There's nothing wrong with them," the other said. "'Tis but a bit of
an argument. They're just working themselves up to the interesting
stage."

"What are they arguing about?"

"Sure and it's the same old argument--which of them has the longest
beard. It's been going on ever since Finbheara endorsed Macushla's
Magic Beard Groom, claiming that he had the longest beard in all
Midgard. Iubdan brought suit in the Court of the Leprechauns to prove
Finbheara a liar, but then Geanncanac and Daoine Glas called both of
them liars and so it started."

"Do you think it'll last long?" Kevan asked anxiously.

"Until there's not a hair left on the chin of a one of them," the gnome
said with anticipation. "Then they'll retire for a few hours until
their beards grow back--and they'll be at it again. Isn't it heavenly?"

"I was hoping to ask them where to find someone," Kevan said.

The gnome turned and looked up at Kevan, who in turn noted that since
he could still see the little man he must not be of the Wanagemeswak.

"You're a mortal," said the gnome in tones of accusation.

"Yes," confessed Kevan.

"Then, by the same reasoning," continued the gnome, "it must be that
you were sent here by Brian Shanachie and that it's Alviss you're
looking for. Now, that will be a donnybrook for fair when you find him.
I've a notion to go with you."

"It'll really amount to very little," Kevan said hastily. "I'm sure
you'll find this much more interesting. But you could tell me how to
find Alviss."

The gnome seemed to be debating with himself, but renewed shrieks of
rage from the other side of the throne room drew his gaze back there.
He jerked a thumb in the direction from which Kevan had come. "Across
the way and into the hill," he said.

Kevan MacGreene stepped back outdoors and saw a small brass door set in
the hill. He walked across and entered. As the door swung shut behind
him, he found himself in a tunnel running straight back through the
hill. It was dimly lighted, but Kevan managed to make his way along
it--with some difficulty, however, since he had to walk stooped over to
keep from bumping his head.

After walking for some time, around numerous twists and bends, Kevan
heard the murmur of a voice somewhere ahead. As he proceeded, it became
louder. Finally, he rounded a turn in the tunnel and saw a small,
stocky dwarf busily stirring a huge cauldron with one hand while with
the other he kept throwing various ingredients into the steaming pot.
It was he who muttered and Kevan could now make out the words.

"A pinch of chlorite, a bit of mica, some biotite, spoon of felspar;
a little graphite, and now amphibole, dust with kyanite, and top with
idocrase--"

"What's idocrase?" Kevan asked.

"_Don't do that!_" screamed the little man. He whirled around, molten
rock dripping from the spoon in his hand, to glare at Kevan, his bushy
red beard bristling with anger.

"I merely asked what idocrase is," Kevan said mildly.

"You didn't have to sneak up on me like that. And any fool knows that
idocrase is a hydrous silicate of calcium and aluminum and that you
can't bake a decent gneiss without it." His eyes suddenly narrowed as
he took in Kevan's size. "You're a mortal," he said.

       *       *       *       *       *

Kevan nodded. The little man reached behind him, grabbed a pickaxe and
came up swinging. Kevan MacGreene leaped to one side only in time.

"Wait a minute," he yelled. "I claim diplomatic immunity."

The dwarf stopped short and glared. "Diplomatic immunity?" he said.
"What's that?"

"It means you're not allowed to attack me," said Kevan. "Brian
Shanachie sent me here on a diplomatic errand."

It was plain that the dwarf saw no reason for restraining his anger,
but he was sufficiently uncertain to hold back. "Brian Shanachie should
mind his own business," he growled.

"Now, I'm looking for Alviss...."

"I'm Alviss."

"Good," Kevan said. He had no idea of how to go about adjusting the
matter which he'd been sent to fix, but he had determined on a firm
course. "Now, what seems to be the matter, Alviss?" he asked briskly.

"Matter?" repeated Alviss, his voice going up a few octaves. For a
moment, it looked as if he might succumb to his rage, but he controlled
it. "I made the finest gneiss that has ever been formed in the entire
history of Midgard. No sooner had it hardened than you mortals came
along and cracked it right down the center."

"But it was an accident," Kevan said. "An atom bomb was being tested
and it was by accident that they happened to set it off over your work.
You see, these atom bomb tests are a part of our national defense
program--"

"So it's defending yourselves you are," Alviss said grimly. "Then you
can just defend yourselves against me."

"I'm sure," Kevan said, "that the Combined Command would have been more
careful but--well, I'm afraid that the truth of the matter is that the
Army doesn't officially believe in gnomes."

"They don't, eh?" said Alviss with a nasty grin. "Then they'll have
nobody to blame but themselves when their fine bombs bounce back in
their laps and when the barrels of their guns turn to rubber and drop
the bullets at their feet."

"You mustn't do that," Kevan said hastily. "The psychiatrists would
only pin a label on it which would destroy the morale of our Army. To
say nothing to what it would do to the WAC and the WAVE. There must be
some other solution."

"No," said Alviss firmly. "My honor is at stake."

"But there must be another way of saving your honor. You look like a
reasonable--er--person, Mr. Alviss. I'm sure that between the two of
us, we can find a way...."

"Well," said Alviss and there was a shrewd look in his eyes, "perhaps,
if you were to bring me Thrud...."

"Thread?" exclaimed Kevan, relief coming with the misunderstanding.
"What kind?"

"Not thread," said Alviss. "Thrud. Do you mean, mortal, that you do not
know the story of Alviss?"

Kevan shook his head.

"What's your name, mortal?"

"Kevan MacGreene."

"'Tis a good name," said the dwarf.

       *       *       *       *       *

Alviss sat down on the floor and for the first time his face lost its
look of anger. "It was long ago," he said. "More years than you mortals
can reckon. But I was an adventurous lad and one night I crossed the
bridge Bifrost from Midgard to Asgard. Asgard, you understand, is the
land of the old gods, but I was safe there as long as it was dark.
While I was there, I met Thrud, only daughter of Thor, god of the
yeomen and peasants, dispenser of thunder. Aye, she was beautiful--more
beautiful than you'd know, Kevan MacGreene--and I knew she was the lass
for Alviss. It seemed that she felt the same way about me, despite the
fact that she was three times my height. Hand in hand, we went to see
Thor--faith and there's one for whom I would set bear traps every night
if he were my father-in-law."

"I gather that he turned you down?" Kevan said.

"Worse," said Alviss. Rage and sorrow intermingled on his face. "By
the beard of Daoine Glas, he tricked me. He said that Thrud could marry
me and come away if I would answer thirteen questions. Bad cess to him,
I agreed. His twelve questions were to give the names for the world,
the moon, the sun, the clouds, the wind, the calm, the sea, the trees,
the night, fire, wheat and beer in all the worlds of the Aesir, Vanir,
giants, elves and gods."

"What are they?" Kevan asked curiously.

"There is no time to tell you, as you will see. But I was then fresh
from visiting the worlds he'd mentioned and I knew the names well.
We sat there in Thor's palace, Belskirnir, before a great roaring
fire--Thor holding his great head in his hands as he listened, Thrud
sitting beside me and holding my hand--and I recited the names. It was
a long task and I didn't notice that it was daylight as I finished. I
spoke the last name and then demanded Thrud's hand. Thor only grinned
and pointed. I turned to look in the direction he was pointing and the
last thing I saw in Asgard was the sun streaming through the window. As
it touched me, I turned to stone."

Two tears streaked down the dwarf's face and were lost in his red beard.

"Why did you turn to stone?" Kevan asked.

"It was the law of the land--and still is," said Alviss. "If the sun
shines on any of the Little People while in Asgard, they turn to stone.
Thor had tricked me. I would be there still if Hreidmar and Sindri
hadn't come to rescue me. As soon as they carried me back to Midgard,
the spell was gone and I was myself again. But Thrud was lost to me
forever."

"Why didn't you go back some night and get her?" asked Kevan. Being a
practical man, he added, "Or why didn't she run away and join you?"

"You're excessively stupid, even for a mortal," snapped the dwarf.
"Once the spell had been upon me, I would turn to stone should I ever
again set foot in Asgard. And it has been decreed that there are only
three ways in which Thrud may ever leave Asgard. Hand in hand with her
true love, carried over Bifrost by a mortal, or when she goes to Gimli
after Ragnarok."

"Well," said Kevan MacGreene finally, "it's a very touching and
romantic story and I assure you that you have my deepest sympathy--but
I'm afraid I fail to see how it concerns our present problem."

"Do you now?" asked Alviss. He gazed up from beneath his bushy red
eyebrows. "All you have to do, my lad, is go to Asgard and bring Thrud
here to me. If you do that, I'll not make war against the mortals. Fail
and I'll strike immediately."

"Oh, come now," said Kevan. "You can't seriously expect me to go in and
kidnap the girl out from under the nose of her father and I don't know
how many other characters. It's not fair."

"Its fair enough and you'll get no more from me," said Alviss. "Be off
with you--for if you're not back here by the end of the month, I'll
start my war."

"The end of the month? Mortal time or your own?"

"Mine, of course."

"How much time does that give me?" asked Kevan.

The dwarf scratched his head, lost in deep thought. Then he began
chanting to himself:

"Junius, Aprilis, Septemq, Novemq, tricenos

"Unum plus reliqui, Februs tenet octo vicenos

"At si bissextus fuerit superadditur unus--" He rolled his eyes toward
the roof and seemed to be counting. "That'll give you until tomorrow
morning," he finally announced.

"But that's impossible," exclaimed Kevan.

"Not impossible if you stretch your legs instead of standing here
stretching your tongue," said Alviss. "Your only problem with time is
getting from here to Yggdrasil and then from there to here. The time
you spend in Asgard will not count since time there does not exist in
relation to our time."

"Yggdrasil?" repeated Kevan. "Where is that?"

"That's part of your problem," said the dwarf. He turned back and began
stirring his cauldron and it was obvious that he intended to talk no
more. Kevan MacGreene turned and went back through the long, winding
tunnel.




                                  III


When he was once more outside, across from the palace of the
four kings, he suddenly remembered something that the head of
Troubleshooters, Inc. had told him. He looked and saw that the small
metal flower was still in his lapel. He put his mouth close to it and
shouted.

"Brian Shanachie!"

"Well," said a voice which seemed to come out of the air directly over
his head, "I was wondering if I were ever going to hear from you."

"What do you mean?" Kevan demanded indignantly. "I haven't been here
more than an hour."

"Time, my dear boy, is relative," the voice said airily. "How did you
make out with Alviss?"

Kevan quickly related all that had happened. "What shall I do?" he
asked when he'd finished. "Obviously I can't go to--wherever it is--and
just steal the girl."

There was a heavy sigh out of the air above his head. "It is a rather
difficult task," admitted the voice, "for one of your inexperience.
Unfortunately, there are no other agents unengaged at the moment, so I
guess there's nothing to do but go get the girl."

"I won't," Kevan MacGreene said grimly. "I've had enough of this. I
quit."

"My dear boy," the voice said, "you can't quit. If you're not employed
by me, there is no way back here, and without the badge of my office
you might find it rather difficult to get along where you are."

Kevan was silent in the grip of frustration.

"Besides," the voice continued sternly, "don't forget that you're a
MacGreene. Once removed from the County Ulster 'tis true, but still a
MacGreene. Quitting is not for the likes of you."

It was, moreover, the only argument to sway Kevan MacGreene. "Okay," he
said wearily, "where do I find this Yggdrasil?"

"Just go due Southeast by Northwest and you can't miss it." The voice
sounded pleased with itself.

"And what is Yggdrasil?" Kevan asked.

"The world tree--and that's why you can't miss it. You'll see it miles
before you reach it. How much time did Alviss give you?"

"Until tomorrow morning."

There was a thin whistle in the air. "That isn't much time. I guess
you'll be needing some assistance. Don't move for the next minute, my
lad."

There seemed to be a crackling in the air around Kevan's head and
then beside him stood a new jeep. It was painted a pleasant emerald
green--which reminded Kevan of Kathleen Culanna's eyes--and lettered on
the side were the words _TROUBLESHOOTERS, INC.--OUR SPELLS, CURSES AND
KNELLS ARE GUARANTEED_.

"What's the slogan for?" Kevan asked.

"Oh," said the voice of Brian Shanachie, "that jeep was built to be
used only in the land of the Little People and it doesn't hurt to
advertise, you know. After all, we do work for both sides in making
our adjustments. It helps to build confidence if they know that we
guarantee to handle any matter up here which threatens them. But
it's getting late. Perhaps you'd better run along. Oh, yes, there is
one more thing. That is a new jeep and I didn't have time to install
a spell-bumper. Some of the more provincial gnomes are not yet
accustomed to our jeeps and may try to throw a spell at you. So if you
notice one apparently weaving something in the air, I'd suggest that
you dodge as quickly as possible. Good-by--and don't hesitate to call
on me if you need anything."

There was dismissal in the voice, so Kevan MacGreene stepped gingerly
into the jeep. It turned out, however, to be quite solid, so he sat
down with growing confidence. The first thing that caught his eye was
the compass just over the steering wheel. If anyone had told Kevan that
a compass could manage to point Southeast by Northwest, he wouldn't
have believed him--but this one did.

       *       *       *       *       *

He stepped on the starter and the motor of the jeep caught with a
full-throated roar which was the most comforting thing that had
happened to Kevan since he'd left Brian Shanachie's office. He put it
in gear and let out the clutch. The jeep leaped forward eagerly.

He was just driving past the palace, from which could still be heard a
subdued roar, when he discovered a small gnome standing in the shadow
of the building. The gnome was glaring at the green jeep and his
hands were making strange passes in front of him. Kevan gazed at him
curiously and then suddenly remembered what Brian Shanachie had said.
He twisted the wheel and sent the jeep bouncing over a small hill.

Glancing back, he was glad he had remembered, for he was just in time
to see a tree turn into some sort of giant pink worm and go wriggling
off at a mad pace. The tree was just beyond where the jeep would have
been if he'd continued straight. Kevan had no doubt that if he'd failed
to turn, he would have been riding just such a pink monstrosity.

He soon got the jeep straightened out again in the direction of the
compass needle and pressed the accelerator to the floor. The little car
went bouncing over rocks and hills, undaunted by all that was in its
path, and Kevan MacGreene grinned happily. This was the sort of magic
which gave him a sense of reality.

After what seemed like a couple hours of riding, Kevan found he was
approaching the giant tree which he assumed must be Yggdrasil. He'd
sighted it more than an hour back and for the past half hour had been
driving in the shade of the tree. Now, just beyond it, he could see the
huge flat rainbow arching up into the sky.

He arrived near the trunk of the tree and stopped the jeep, while
he looked around for the bridge. There was nothing that resembled
one--except the rainbow. He noticed that its incline was gradual enough
to be ascended and finally decided that it must be the bridge for which
he was looking. He was about to put the jeep into gear, when a new
voice spoke to him.

"Really, old chap," it said, in the broadest of English accents, "I
wouldn't, y'know. Bifrost is composed of fire, air and water. I should
imagine the fire element might harm your tyres, to say nothing of
exploding your petrol."

Kevan looked around but saw only a huge serpent coiled around the
tree, apparently gnawing on its roots, and a sneaky looking squirrel
which was just then scurrying up the trunk of the tree. He had about
concluded that he was again dealing with a gnome who was too thin to be
seen when he noticed that the serpent's eyes were fixed on him and that
there seemed to be a friendly gleam in them.

"Were you addressing me?" he asked.

"Yes," said the serpent. "I'm aware that it was forward of me,
y'know--we haven't been introduced and all that--but, dash it all, one
just can't let a chap rush into danger."

Kevan found himself grinning at the accent. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Nidhoggr, the serpent of Yggdrasil," the snake said.

"I'm Kevan MacGreene. How do you do."

"Charmed, I'm sure," said the serpent, with what was obviously meant
for a friendly smile. The effect was modified unpleasantly by the
appearance of his fangs.

"If you're a part of this set-up," Kevan said, with a wave which
included the tree and the rainbow bridge, "I should guess that you must
be Teutonic in origin, yet you seem to have a rather marked English
accent."

"Do you like it?" the serpent said eagerly. "I think it sounds
rather cultured myself. I picked it up from an English sparrow who
occasionally visits me. He's taught me some rather jolly songs
too--especially one, I believe it's called 'The Base-born King of
England.' Would you care to hear it?"

"Some other time, perhaps," Kevan said, smothering a desire to laugh.
"Although I believe you have the title slightly wrong. Now, what were
you saying about not crossing the bridge in my jeep?"

"I don't believe it's safe," the serpent said. "I understand that fire
and petrol do not mix well. You can walk across, y'know--it makes a
splendid little outing. I believe the water and air keep the fire
cool enough not to burn and I understand, in fact, that it's rather
invigorating."

"Well, I suppose there's nothing to do but walk," Kevan said. He shut
off the motor and climbed out of the jeep.

"You're quite sure it's safe?"

"Positive, old chap. It's safe for everyone except Thor. He's been
forbidden to step on it because of his heavy tread--he's a peasant,
y'know. It's not as if he were a gentleman." The serpent glanced up
toward the trunk of the tree, where a squirrel could be seen now
scurrying downward. "There comes Ratatosk again," he said, lowering his
voice. "He spends all his time between Vedfolnir, on the upper branch,
and myself trying to stir up trouble. An officious little blighter.
You'd best hurry along or he's bound to think there's something
subversive in our little chat."

"Okay," Kevan said with a grin. "Thanks for the advice." He waved to
the serpent and started up the rainbow bridge. To his surprise, the
mere touch of the bridge was invigorating. Through the soles of his
shoes he could feel a combination of heat and coolness and it seemed
that strength flowed up into him. He strode briskly along.

       *       *       *       *       *

When he was well up over the curve of the bridge, he stopped a moment
and looked back. By stretching his neck, he could make out the top
of the tree and he caught a glimpse of a golden rooster perched on
the very tip. It looked like a tiny spot of gold in the midst of the
evergreen leaves.

In only a few more minutes, he was nearing the other end of the rainbow
bridge. In the far distance, he could see the turrets of a number of
huge castles.

The rest of the way was mostly down hill and he completed it at a fast
pace. He stepped off the bridge and stopped to look around, wondering
about his next move, when he was startled by a loud roar of pain. It
seemed to come not far from his right, so he turned in that direction.
After a moment's walk, he came around a small hill and found himself in
front of a large cave.

A young man stood in the entrance of the cave. He was clad in golden
chain mail, but wore no helmet so that his bright yellow hair fell to
his shoulders. He was handsome beyond the highest standards set by
mortal movies, yet his beauty was all masculine. There, Kevan found
himself thinking, stands one who looks every inch a god.

He'd been staring at the blond man for several minutes before he
realized what was represented in the full picture. The young man was
standing in the mouth of the cave because he was chained here. Huge
golden chains ran from his arms and legs, and from a collar around his
neck, to the walls of the cave. The chains were tight so that he had
little room to move about. Directly above the cave a large serpent was
lying. Its open mouth was just above the entrance to the cave and its
venom was steadily dripping from the gleaming fangs toward the man
below. But standing alongside of the cave was a beautiful blonde--and,
Kevan noted with some embarrassment, scantily-clad--young woman. She
held a silver cup in her hand in which she caught the dripping venom
just before it reached the young man.

"By Gimli," the young man was saying as Kevan arrived, "you took long
to empty that last draught, Signe. I thought a sea of venom had struck
me. Now--" He broke off as he caught sight of Kevan. His bright blue
eyes moved swiftly as he looked Kevan over.

"What manner of a one have we here?" he said. "Although it's been
immortal long since I've seen a mortal, I could swear this is one. And
in Asgard." He raised his voice. "Are you a mortal, strange one?"

"Yes," Kevan said, trying to be polite enough not to show that he found
anything strange in the scene before him. "My name is Kevan MacGreene."

"Welcome to Asgard, Kevan MacGreene," the blond young man said. He
grinned merrily and rattled the chains that held him. "It may seem
strange to you to be welcomed by one so carefully chained, but after
all I am a son of Odin and I presume I can still shout a welcome. I am
Loki and this is my wife, Signe. As you can see, she's busy."

[Illustration: "Welcome to Asgard, Kevan MacGreene," the blond young
man said, grinning merrily and rattling the chains.]

The young woman glanced quickly around to acknowledge the introduction
with a smile, then turned her attention back to the cup she held.




                                  IV


Now Kevan MacGreene was not especially accustomed to travel--before
this day his travels had been limited to a few trips to Coney Island,
once or twice to Canarsie, and once to Staten Island when he'd made
the mistake of asking a girl for a date before finding out where she
lived. As a result, he was none too sure how to act in the present
circumstances. In the travels already mentioned, he'd never come across
a god imprisoned in golden chains--he wasn't even sure he'd ever read
of such a thing before. Yet it was rather foolish to act as if nothing
were unusual. At the same time, the god might be sensitive to strange
remarks about his condition.

It needed a diplomacy which Kevan MacGreene wasn't sure he possessed.
Should he (he wondered) offer his help or would such an offer coming
from a mere mortal be considered an impudence.

"I'll wager," said Loki with a laugh, "that the mortal caught sight
of your ruby lips, Signe, and is wondering if you'd reward him for
rescuing your husband." He laughed louder as Kevan MacGreene blushed.
"She would at that, Kevan MacGreene," he said, "but I fear you'll go
unrewarded. I was put here by my father and brothers and no mortal can
undo their work. But it shall be undone in time, never fear. As it
is, I don't find it too bad except for the moments when Signe goes to
empty the cup. Although it is a bit confining." He laughed again in
appreciation of his own wit, rattling the chains to the accompaniment
of his laughter.

"You're a brother of Thor?" Kevan asked.

"Aye, that I am. If you're looking for Thor, I can tell you one thing.
He'll bore you to tears trying to show you how strong and smart he is.
I'd rather be in chains than with Thor."

"Well," said Kevan, "the truth of the matter is that I don't want to
see Thor, but I'm afraid I have to."

"Ah," said Loki, "is it a matter of asking Thor for some sort of
intercession on behalf of the yeomen or peasants? I wasn't aware that
we were still worshipped among people. It seems to me I remember Hermod
returning from one of his trips with the news that other gods now had
the concession among you mortals. But then I suppose that new gods are
a bit like wine--all fizz and not very much kick."

Kevan had been embarrassed by the turn of the conversation but saw no
way of stopping it once it had started. When the god finished speaking,
he cleared his throat nervously and tried to straighten things out.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Loki," he said, "but I'm afraid that you aren't
worshipped by mortals--at least, by none that I know. In fact, most
people know nothing about you." He thought he saw a look of sorrow
cross the face of the chained god. "I must confess I'm not very
familiar with the facts about you myself, but I do know there are a
number of written records about all of you. I believe some of them are
quite complete, although of course they usually add that you were only
superstitious myths."

"Oh, well," Loki said, laughing softly, "I don't care what you call me
so long as you spell my name right."

Kevan was pleased that the god was taking it so well.

"But," Loki continued, "if it's not a matter of arranging a sacrifice,
what does bring you here? I cannot remember when a mortal last visited
Asgard."

       *       *       *       *       *

Kevan quickly debated the matter in his mind and decided there could be
no harm in telling this god the reason for his visit. It even occurred
to him that since Thor had helped to chain him in the cave, Loki
might be anxious for revenge and would be willing to furnish him with
valuable clues.

"Do you remember a dwarf named Alviss?" he asked. "He once visited
here, although I believe it was quite some time ago."

"Alviss," mused the god, staring into space, although still managing to
keep one eye on his wife to be sure she didn't shift the cup. "Wasn't
that the one who became infatuated with Thrud?"

"That's the one," said Kevan.

"I remember him now," said Loki. "He's the one that Thor tricked into
staying around until morning and he turned to stone." Loki laughed
until the cave rang with the merry sound. "Thor was always a tricky
one. Oh, a fine fellow when it came to drinking or wenching, but
tricky. I well remember the time he and I met two little redheads at
a convention of--_OUCH!_" The last was a bellow of pain as his wife
moved the cup just enough to permit a drop of venom to fall on him. He
strained against the chains until the pain subsided. Then he grinned
ruefully at Kevan. "Sorry," he said. "It must have been two other
fellows."

"Well," said Kevan, rushing to fill what he thought was an embarrassing
gap, "Alviss is still in love with Thrud."

"Even as a stone," exclaimed Loki. "Oh, I remember now--he was stolen
from Thor's palace a few nights later. I suppose his friends unstoned
him, as it were."

Kevan nodded. "Exactly," he said. "Now, there's a small matter with
Alviss which needs adjusting and his price is that I bring Thrud to
him."

"Hmmmm," said Loki. He re-examined Kevan, with something like
admiration in his gaze. "I could better understand it if you were
after Thrud yourself--she is a winsome wench. But to do it for this
Alviss--well, you've sliced yourself a bit of a job."

"I'm well aware of it," Kevan said modestly. "Naturally, I'd appreciate
any advice...."

"Naturally," Loki said, not unkindly. He looked at Kevan again. "I
admit I wouldn't mind seeing you put one over on Thor. Maybe...."

"Loki," the god's wife said sharply, speaking for the first time, "you
promised to keep out of politics."

"But this isn't politics, honey," Loki said. "It's romance. In a way,
it's legitimately part of my business. If love is a fire kindled in the
heart, then surely the god of fire can concern himself with it. Tell
me, Kevan MacGreene, is there anything in your mortal world which Thor
might consider flattering to himself?"

Kevan thought for a minute and then suddenly remembered something. "I
believe so," he said. "One of the days of our week is called Thursday.
I believe that it was originally named after Thor."

"Just the thing. When you leave here--wait, do you come from a
particular province in the mortal world?"

"Not exactly a province. I'm from New York City in America. It's the
largest and greatest city in the world, located, I might add, in the
greatest country in the world."

"Of course," Loki said amiably. "Now, when you leave here you will stop
at the first station you come to and send Thor a ravengram. You'll tell
him that you're the American ambassador and--"

"But I couldn't say that," protested Kevan. "It's not true."

       *       *       *       *       *

Loki encouraged him. "You're an American, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"And didn't you tell me that this Alviss had sent you here as his
ambassador to get Thrud?"

"Y-yes."

"Well, then, you're an American ambassador," Loki said with finality.
"Tell Thor that you want to see him about presiding at a dedication
ceremony for this day. It's been so long since a mortal asked Thor
to preside at anything he's bound to fall for it. That will get you
invited to Belskirnir."

"I guess I could do that," Kevan said doubtfully. "But getting out will
be harder than getting in, won't it?"

"Nothing to it," said Loki with confidence. "Do you know any good
riddles?"

"Riddles?" repeated the amazed Kevan. "You mean things like--like 'What
flies forever and rests never?'"

"The wind," Loki said promptly. "That's the general idea, although
you'll need to get newer ones than that. The really old ones Thor will
know. Can you manage some more modern ones?"

"I'll try," Kevan said. He remembered that his mother had often read
riddles to him as a child and he thought he could recall some of them.

"About three good riddles should be about right. When you get to
Belskirnir, the first thing you'd better do is tip off Thrud why you're
there. Then you challenge Thor to guess your three riddles. If he
fails--and he will if you use good ones for nobody ever accused Thor of
being bright--then he lets you take Thrud away."

"That sounds all right, except for one thing. What if Thor doesn't
accept the challenge?"

"I'm coming to that," Loki said thoughtfully. "At the same time you
send the message to Thor, you send one to my father."

"Your father?" Kevan asked, wishing he could remember more of the old
legends. He resolved to brush up on them if he kept this job.

"Odin," Loki explained. "He's Thor's father too and he's still the
head of the family. The old man is a stickler for convention, so you
merely send him a message asking to call on him first before visiting
Thor. Better not mention that you've already met me. The old man will
be pleased that a mortal recognizes that he's still the head of the
house. While you're talking to him, casually mention that you're going
to challenge Thor to three new riddles. Be sure to stress the _new_."

Kevan nodded. He could see little sense in any of this, but was willing
to grant that this was possibly because he was a stranger in the land.

"My father," continued Loki, "is a real pig for knowledge. He'll try to
pump you for the answers to the riddles. If you refuse then he'll show
up at Belskirnir and he'll make Thor accept the challenge, just so he
can hear the answers."

"You're sure?" Kevan asked.

"Positive. The old man will go through anything just to learn something
new. He once gave up one of his eyes just for one drink from Mimir's
well of knowledge. Another time, he hung in a trance from Yggdrasil,
with his head in Niflheim, for nine days in order to learn to write
runes. You can't miss if you do as I tell you."

       *       *       *       *       *

Some of Loki's confidence surged through Kevan. "This is mighty nice of
you, Mr. Loki," he said. "Isn't there something I can do to repay you?"

"I guess not," Loki said sadly, "There is only one way in which these
chains can be broken and I doubt if you could manage it by yourself.
It's really not too bad--although I do get rather bored at times
just standing here and seeing the same things all the time. It was a
pleasure to talk with you."

"Wait a minute," Kevan cried. "I think I have an idea. I'll be right
back." He ran around the side of the hill. As soon as he was out of
sight and hearing, he stopped. He put his mouth close to his lapel and
called: "Brian Shanachie."

"Midgard to Asgard, over," said the voice from above his head. The tone
and the words seemed to indicate that Brian Shanachie was in good humor.

"I believe," Kevan said carefully, "that there may be a good chance
of my being able to get Thrud for Alviss. I've just met my first
inhabitant of Asgard and he's been very helpful. In fact, I'd like to
repay him in some way, which is why I called."

"A friend at court, eh?" said the voice. "Who did you meet?"

"He said his name is Loki."

"Loki?" said the voice. "Isn't he in durance vile, or some such thing?"

"He's chained in a cave, if that's what you mean," Kevan said. "I can't
imagine why they would treat him like that. He seems very nice."

"What did he tell you about himself?"

"Nothing. I did gather from some reference he made to his wife that
he's the god of fire."

"That's right," said the voice. "Also god of mischief and evil. You
understand, my boy, we make a practice of not interfering with an
agent in the field, but if I were you I'd go rather easy on making
gifts to Loki. No files baked in a cake, or that sort of thing. If Loki
ever breaks loose from his chains, it means the end of the world."

"I find it very difficult to believe that Loki is evil in any way,"
Kevan said with dignity. "However, I was merely thinking of providing
him with some entertainment. He told me that he gets bored just
standing there, always with the same view."

"Well--do whatever you think best. What sort of a gift did you have in
mind? Dancing girls?"

"No," Kevan said indignantly. "I don't think his wife would approve and
I doubt if we could morally justify such a gift. But didn't you mention
that you had once made a gift of a radio to one of the gnomes?"

"That's right."

"I was wondering how such things would work here," Kevan said. "After
all, they are electrically powered and I doubt if they have many modern
conveniences here."

"No problem at all," the voice said cheerfully. "Electrical objects
become so charged during teleportation that they run for a long time.
Did you want to give Loki a radio?"

"No, I was thinking of a television set. Perhaps one with a twenty-four
inch screen. Now, after your information, I'm even more sure that this
will make a superb gift for him. If you are correct in saying that he's
the god of the evil, some good wholesome entertainment may be good for
him. Television, you know, is an excellent way of keeping the children
off the streets and--"

"Spare me the commercials," snapped the voice. "You want it right
there?"

"No, wait until I get back to the cave. You might also include a remote
control tuning device. I imagine he might find it difficult to handle
the controls otherwise."

Kevan hurried back to the cave, whereupon Loki stopped trying to guess
how full the cup was that Signe held and watched him with interest.
Kevan stood at a spot where he judged that Loki could get the best view
and once more spoke into the flower in his lapel.

"Okay, send it along," he said.

       *       *       *       *       *

Once more the air seemed to crackle around him and there was a solid
thump as the television set came to rest only a few inches from Kevan's
foot.

"In the name of Garm, what is that?" demanded Loki.

"A television set," Kevan said. "I think you will find that it will do
much to relieve your boredom." He bent over and turned on the switch
and was pleasantly surprised to see the screen light up. He fiddled
around with the controls until he got a station tuned. It was a news
broadcast, which normally would have interested him, but he was more
curious to see Loki's reaction. The god was staring at the screen
with bulging eyes. Satisfied, Kevan turned the volume down so that he
wouldn't have to compete with the announcer's voice.

"That," he said, "happens to be what we call a news broadcast. That
is, the man is telling what is actually happening in the world of the
mortals. But you will find other things that are more amusing. In fact,
there are a few comedians you might find highly entertaining--I imagine
that you are of a sufficiently ancient period to find their jokes new."

Kevan went on to explain to the god how the remote control device could
be used to change stations and to raise or lower the volume. A look of
speculation crept into Loki's face as the explanation was being given.

"This is really very nice of you," he said when Kevan had finished. "I
wonder if I might impose on you for another favor?"

"Of course," Kevan said promptly.

"I have three children," Loki said, "two boys and a girl. Would it be
possible to get such a machine for each of them? I'm sure they would
enjoy it."

Kevan nodded. "Television is wonderful for children," he said. "I
understand they have some very delightful children's programs on, too.
Do you think table models might do for them?"

"Anything," Loki said.

"And where would you like them delivered?" Kevan asked. "I could go to
wherever they live, so the sets would be delivered there."

"No, I wouldn't think of putting you out. Right here will be fine. I'm
sure we can arrange for them to be picked up."

Kevan nodded again and bent his head to speak into the metal flower.
"Three more television sets," he ordered. "Table models, if you don't
mind."

He thought he heard a grumbling grunt from the air above his head, but
a moment later three small television sets were dumped on the ground
beside the larger one.




                                   V


After accepting Loki's profuse thanks, Kevan MacGreene went on his
way, feeling virtuous for having performed such a good deed. It did
occur to him that he should have recommended a few good programs for
Loki, perhaps one or two of a spiritual nature, but he decided against
turning back to correct it. There was a possibility that a god might
resent being instructed by a mere mortal.

Kevan walked rapidly along the broad path he discovered and it
wasn't long before he arrived at what Loki had called the first
station--although in reality it was little more than a thatched hut.
Kevan entered and soon composed the two messages which he wanted to
send to Thor and Odin. He handed them over to the old man who ran the
station and almost immediately two ravens darted from the hut. Kevan
retired to a corner to await their return, but much to his surprise he
had barely seated himself when the ravens were back.

Impressed by the service, Kevan toyed with the idea of learning
more about the method, thinking that it might be knowledge he could
take back and sell for a reasonable price to the various telegraph
companies. But he dismissed this as probably being unfair to Brian
Shanachie.

While the answers were brief and to the point, it seemed that both
Odin and Thor would be happy to see the mortal ambassador. After
some dickering with the old man who ran the ravengraph agency, which
involved handing over his wristwatch, Kevan received a horse and
instructions on how to reach Odin's local castle. As he rode off, the
old man was holding the watch to his ear and nodding in time to the
rhythmic ticking.

It was a pleasant ride over the rolling hills of Asgard, and Kevan soon
arrived at the huge, sprawling castle. The guards evidently expected
him, for he was immediately shown into the throne room of the chief of
the gods.

Odin, bald-headed and gray-bearded, slouched on his throne and regarded
his visitor with interest. It was a mutual attitude, with Kevan finally
deciding that Odin must be something of a local character. There were
two ravens seated on his shoulders and they seemed to be constantly
whispering in his ears. On either side of the throne a gigantic wolf
was crouched. Except for his costume, Odin reminded Kevan of an aging
Hollywood producer ready to have his picture taken for the press. But,
of course, he permitted none of this disrespect to show in his manner.

Kevan delivered a carefully-rehearsed speech, in which he praised
Odin's great knowledge, then fell silent.

Odin nodded, as though agreeing with all the points made. "And what are
your plans now, mortal?" he asked.

"I thought of visiting Thor," Kevan said.

"My son?" the old god asked, blinking in astonishment. "Why should you
visit him? You seem interested in knowledge. I'm afraid you'll find
my son rather dull company. Or were you planning to ask for a thunder
license?"

"I want to challenge him to answer three riddles," Kevan said. "If he
fails to answer them, then I will claim his daughter, Thrud."

"Thrud, eh?" Odin said. A crafty look came into his eyes. "If it's only
a matter of a woman, why not stay here and expound your riddles. I'll
let you have one of the Valkyries. It'll be a much better bargain. They
are all quite skilled in the arts of love and Thor is rather strict
with Thrud so she may be a little too innocent for a man of the world
such as yourself."

"No, it must be Thrud," Kevan said, deciding there was no use in
defending the purity of his own intentions.

"Jaded appetites, eh?" the old god said, shrugging his shoulders. "What
riddles are you going to try on my son? Perhaps I can advise you."

"I'm sorry, sir," Kevan said, "but I'd rather not say. You know the old
saying, 'the walls have ears'?"

"Of course they do," Odin said a trifle impatiently. "They're battle
trophies. I removed every single one of them myself."

At first, Kevan thought the god might be a little mad, but then he
realized that the walls of the throne room were indeed covered with
ears. And not very attractive ears at that. "No, no," he said, averting
his eyes, "I meant that someone might overhear the riddles and tip off
Thor."

"And he wouldn't be above using the information," Odin agreed. "Well,
I'll tell you what--I'll ride you over to Thor's."

"I wouldn't want to trouble you," Kevan began, but was stopped by a
wave of Odin's hand.

"No trouble. After all, we seldom have visitors here. I wouldn't want
it said that Odin lets visitors just wander off by themselves--maybe
even be eaten up by a stray dragon. Besides, I wouldn't mind seeing
that son of mine taken down a notch or two." He looked pleased at the
prospect.

       *       *       *       *       *

The mention of dragons was enough to keep Kevan from protesting
further. Within a few minutes, he was again mounted on his horse while
Odin rode beside him. As they galloped through the gate, they were
joined by a dozen of the Valkyries. These beautiful young women, their
charms not sufficiently concealed by the armor they wore, immediately
began casting covetous glances at Kevan. He was careful to ride close
beside Odin.

Their arrival at Thor's castle, Belskirnir, was filled with confusion
for Kevan. The palace was swarming with various lusty gods, their
wives, mistresses and children. He was introduced to so many that he
could remember the names of none. He did, however, catch the name of
Thrud when he was introduced to a shapely blonde girl, with a sullen
face. He managed to whisper to her, telling her who he was and the
purpose of his errand, whereupon the sullenness fell from her face. The
result was so startling that Kevan found it difficult to remember that
he was there on behalf of Alviss.

It seemed that they were just in time for a banquet and Kevan found
himself forced to go through what seemed like a hundred course meal,
consisting mostly of half-cooked venison, and so many cups of mead that
his head was swimming.

Kevan had tried several times to get Thor's attention to bring up the
matter of his challenge, but found it almost impossible to make himself
heard above the roar of voices in the banquet hall. But the matter was
finally settled for him by Odin, whose curiosity could no longer stand
the strain.

"Quiet," shouted the chief of the gods, leaping to his feet. He struck
the table a mighty blow with his hand, causing the mead cups to jump
and spill. "Silence!" He waited until the shouting and talking died
down. "The mortal who is our guest would like to challenge my son,
Thor, on three riddles."

Thor looked up from the head of the table, but there was no evidence of
pleasure in his face. He was dressed in a peasant costume and Kevan had
secretly decided that the costume was an affectation.

"I'm not interested in riddles," Thor grunted. "I know enough of them
anyway."

"Well, I am," retorted Odin. "So you'll accept the challenge or I'll
take the thunder concession away from you and give it to Sif."

There was a burst of laughter from around the table and Thor frowned.
He didn't really care about the thunder concession, but if it were
taken from him and given to his wife, the symbolism would be one he'd
never live down. "All right," he growled. "Where is this mortal?"

"Here," Kevan said, standing up. He had expected to be nervous but the
mead had bolstered his courage. "But there's more to the challenge. If
you fail to answer two of the three riddles then I get to take Thrud
away with me."

"You mean you want to marry her?" Thor asked, scowling.

"No," Kevan said. The sudden silence that followed made his ears burn,
but he was afraid to explain more fully. If Thor knew that there was
a chance that Alviss might finally triumph over him, there was a
possibility he would brook his father's anger. So Kevan ignored the
knowing glances and kept quiet.

"That's the trouble with you mortals," grumbled Thor. He cast a quick
glance at his father and decided not to risk arguing about it. "All
right, I agree," he said reluctantly. "What do you pay, if I answer the
riddles?"

Kevan was taken aback. "I--I hadn't thought about that," he admitted.

"Well, think about it," Thor snapped. "I have it. If I answer your
riddles, you'll stay here as my personal goatherd."

       *       *       *       *       *

Kevan had gone too far to back down, so he nodded. He thought, a little
ruefully, that the next job of Troubleshooters, Inc. might be to rescue
a former agent turned goatherd. It also occurred to him that perhaps
Brian Shanachie didn't bother rescuing agents, but he pushed the
thought away.

"Okay," he said, "here is my first riddle." He'd finally decided on a
first riddle which he suspected was too old, but it was the weakest
of his three and he wanted to get it over with. He cleared his throat
and began: "What we caught, we left behind; what we brought, we cannot
find."

Thor's expression of worry vanished and he burst out laughing. "I
learned that one so long ago," he roared, "that when I first knew it,
it went: Hos' helomen lipometha, Hos' ouk helomen pherometha. The
answer is a flea."

Kevan MacGreene nodded, feeling the first pangs of fear. It suddenly
dawned on him that he had little business pitting wits with a god--even
a discarded one--and he could only hope that his next two riddles
were new enough. In terms of mortal life they too were old; it was so
difficult to tell what was new for a god.

"Here is my second riddle," he said nervously. "I have an apple I can't
cut, a blanket I can't fold, and so much money I can't count it." If
Thor guessed this one, he was finished.

There was a long silence. Kevan sneaked a glance at Odin and the older
god's puzzled expression gave him more confidence than Thor's frown.

The silence stretched into minutes.

"Enough of this," shouted Odin. "Give up, you idiot, so he can tell us
the answer."

"All right," Thor said sullenly. "I give up."

Elation flooded over Kevan. "The apple is the sun," he said, "the
blanket is the sky, and the money is the stars." He grinned happily
at the expression of rage on Thor's face. "Here's my third and last
riddle," he said. "A long white barn, two roofs on it, and no door at
all, at all." He almost held his breath as he waited.

Thor looked around the table as though he thought someone there might
know the answer and signal him. But the other faces were as blank as
his own.

"By Gimli," shouted Odin, "I think he's got you, son. And a good thing,
too. It's high time that daughter of yours was getting out and learning
a thing or two. Go on--confess you're licked."

His face red with anger, Thor nodded.

"It's an egg," Kevan said triumphantly.

The other gods around the table leaped to their feet and slapped Kevan
on the back in token of victory. He had just started to take a drink of
mead, however, and the result was that he choked.

       *       *       *       *       *

Before Kevan could stop choking, the door to the banquet hall broke
down. A horse and rider came through the door, the horse rearing and
plunging, scattering gods before it. An armored god was astride the
horse, swinging a short-handled axe in his right hand.

In a minute all of the gods were on their feet, shouting. It was Odin
who quieted them with a bellow that shook the rafters. "Well, Hermod?"
he asked as the others quieted.

"It's Ragnarok," the newcomer shouted. "Loki is on his way, with
Jormungandr, Fenris, Hel, Garm, and the Hel-brood. To battle!"

The gods shouted in response and before Kevan had a chance to ask a
single question, the banquet hall was emptied. Only Kevan MacGreene
still sat at the table, staring at the door through which they had all
rushed.

"Better not to get mixed up in any strange fights," Kevan said to
himself, remembering something his father had always told him. He got
up from the table and left the room.

Some fifteen rooms later, he found Thrud and told her of his success.
She nodded, smiling.

"I am ready," she said. "I was sure that anyone Alviss sent would
succeed. Where is my father?"

"They all rushed out to battle," Kevan said. "I didn't catch the
details, but I expect it's just some local argument. Maybe we'd better
hurry before your father returns and changes his mind."




                                  VI


With Thrud leading the way, they went down to the courtyard. There was
a single gray horse standing there patiently. At first, Kevan thought
that it was the horse on which he had arrived, but he changed his mind
when he noticed that this one had eight legs. He counted them three
times to make sure but each time it came out eight.

"It's a good omen," Thrud cried. "This is Sleipnir, Odin's favorite
horse."

Kevan was in no mood to haggle over the ownership of a horse, so he
helped Thrud mount and then leaped on in front of her. He was no
sooner in the saddle than the gray horse sped through the gates. When
the eight legs really got to working, Kevan realized that they were
traveling faster than he'd ever gone in his life.

"I must remember," he thought to himself, "to look for eight-legged
horses the next time I go to the riding academy."

Back over the trail toward Bifrost sped the gray horse. Once far off to
the left Kevan caught sight of a warrior who looked like Odin battling
with a giant wolf.

They were almost to the rainbow bridge when their way was barred by
another horseman, with drawn sword. The gray horse reared, six legs
threshing the air, which kept Kevan busy for a few minutes just staying
on. When that was finally accomplished, he recognized the horseman as
Loki.

Recognition came to Loki at the same moment and he lowered the sword.
"Hello, Kevan MacGreene," he said with an odd smile. "I owe you too
much to bar your way. Go on--as far as you can."

"Well, Mr. Loki," Kevan said. "I thought you'd be home--er--watching
television. What happened?"

"Thanks to you, I'm free," Loki said. "It was decreed that there was
only one way that I could get free--when the greed and lust and vice
and warfare of men became great enough that it would give me the
strength to break my chains. But it is long since we've had contact
with mortals. Then, due to what you call television, I was able to see
the men of your world. There were men whose greed robbed other men.
There were men whose lust destroyed all before them. There were men
whose vices corrupted the innocent and enslaved the free. And there was
warfare on such a scale as never imagined by gods. As I watched, my
strength grew."

"You watched the wrong people," Kevan said. "There are many good
people--although I suppose you don't hear much of them. Still, I'm glad
you were able to get free."

Loki's gaze switched to Kevan's companion. "Thrud," he said, "I'm
sorry, but Ragnarok cannot be held back by a mere romance.... Goodbye,
Kevan MacGreene." He spurred his horse and was gone.

The gray, eight-legged horse was half way over the rainbow bridge
before Kevan realized that the girl behind him was no longer the happy
person who had started with him. He twisted in the saddle and looked at
her. The tears were streaming down her face.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"It's Ragnarok," the girl said between sobs.

"But why are you crying?" Kevan asked, bewildered. "Your Uncle Loki
seemed happy that it was Ragnarok."

"He would be," the girl said bitterly. "Don't you understand, Kevan,
Ragnarok is the end of the world."

"Oh, pshaw," scoffed Kevan. "People are always predicting the end of
the world whenever there's a little argument."

"But I'm not people," Thrud said. "I'm the daughter of Thor, the
granddaughter of Odin, and I tell you that Ragnarok means the complete
destruction of the universe. Only Lif and Lifthrasir will be left to
start a new world. But I will have to go to Gimli with my father and
the others, while Alviss will have to go to the Nida Mountains with the
rest of the dwarfs and I'll never see him again."

"And where will I go--no, don't answer that," Kevan added quickly. "My
goodness, this is a mess. You're sure this is the end of the world?"

"Positive," Thrud said. "And you caused it by giving Loki whatever it
was that you gave him. Without that, he would not have learned of the
evil of mortals and he'd still be chained.... I'm sorry, Kevan," she
added in a softer voice, "I know that you didn't realize what you were
doing."

"I'd heard a lot of criticism of television," muttered Kevan, "but I
never thought it was that bad. The destruction of the universe...."

       *       *       *       *       *

The eight-legged horse galloped off the rainbow bridge and came to a
halt near the trunk of Yggdrasil, sniffing with disdain at the parked
jeep.

"Well," said Kevan with sudden energy, "we'll have to do something
about this. Don't you worry, my dear, Alviss and I will think of
something." He raised his voice. "Oh, you--whatever your name is!"

"Were you addressing me?" the serpent asked, raising its head from the
roots on which it gnawed. "Oh, it's you, old boy. I was just thinking
of that song I wanted to sing to you--"

"Not now," Kevan said hastily. "There's a lady present. Besides I want
you to do me a favor. Something called Ragnarok has started and I'm in
rather a hurry to stop it. I wonder if Miss Thrud might stay here with
you until I get back."

"Of course," said the serpent. "Glad to have her. As a matter of fact,
I have a song which might amuse her. I believe it's called Britannia
Waives the Rules. It's a jolly song--"

"Never mind," said Kevan. "Just see that nothing happens to her. I'll
be right back." He leaped from the back of the horse and climbed
quickly into the jeep.

"If you're thinking of stopping Ragnarok," called the serpent, "you
had better hurry, old chap. Surtr and his men will be coming along any
minute to join the battle and I'm very much afraid that Bifrost will
collapse beneath their weight."

"I'll hurry," promised Kevan. He waved to Thrud and started the jeep.
Within seconds, he had it traveling at top speed.

Alviss was still stirring his cauldron when Kevan MacGreene came
bursting back through the tunnel. "Oh, it's you," he said. "Where's
Thrud? Don't tell me you didn't get her!"

"I did and I didn't," panted Kevan. He quickly explained what had
happened, neglecting only to make it clear that the television set
had been entirely his own idea. The dwarf's face paled throughout the
recital.

"I don't know if Ragnarok can be stopped," he muttered when Kevan had
finished. "But maybe we can find out. I've long had a suspicion...."
He walked over to one of the tunnels leading from where they stood.
"Fialer," he bellowed at the top of his voice. "Galar!"

There was a distant answering shout and Alviss came back to where Kevan
stood. "If anybody will know," he said, "it will be Fialer and Galar.
They're the two who killed Kvaser, the god who knew all answers. You
may remember hearing of the mead which they made of Kvaser's blood and
honey, one draught of which would create a great poet."

"I'm afraid I never heard of it," confessed Kevan, at a total loss.

"Never mind," said Alviss. He stopped as two white-bearded dwarfs came
running into the chamber. He reached out and grabbed each of them by
the beard before the startled dwarfs had any idea of what was happening.

"Remember when the two of you killed Kvaser?" he asked.

"Hey, that's old stuff," one of the dwarfs said. "It's not fair
dragging it up now."

"Besides," said the other, "the statute of limitations has run out."

"I don't care about that," growled Alviss. "I've always had a hunch
that before you made the mead, one or both of you drank his blood
straight and gained his power of all knowledge. I want to know if
that's true and I'm going to find out or I'll knock your heads together
until there's an earthquake up above."

       *       *       *       *       *

For a minute the two dwarfs met Alviss' gaze, but one of them finally
weakened. "It was him," he said, jerking a thumb in the direction of
his companion.

"Is that true, Fialer?" Alviss asked.

"Yes," the dwarf gulped. "But--"

"I don't care about the reason," snapped Alviss. "Ragnarok has started
and I want to know if there's any way it can be stopped?"

"Yes," said the dwarf.

"How?"

"A special brew of the same forces which permitted Loki and his
children to escape will imprison them again," said Fialer. "I can write
out the prescription for you in a few minutes."

"All right," said Alviss. "Get busy and write it out. Galar, you
get going. I want every available gnome, dwarf, fairy, leprechaun,
brownie--in short, everyone here as quickly as they can make it. As for
you," he added, whirling on Kevan, "you get over in the corner and stay
out of the way until I'm ready for you."

Kevan MacGreene got over in the farthest corner and huddled against
the wall. He had no idea of how much time passed, but the tunnel was
suddenly choked with the comings and goings of Little People. He
noticed that some carried pickaxes, some were armed with huge needles,
and others carried bags. While some were still going out on the orders
of Alviss, others were returning and mysterious objects were being
dropped in a new cauldron. Alviss was already stirring and chanting
before the last of the workers returned. It was only a little later
that Alviss looked up and beckoned to Kevan. The latter hurried over,
conscious of a horrible stench coming from the cauldron. As he arrived,
Alviss was pouring the contents into a tiny bucket.

"A magic bucket," he explained, seeing Kevan's stare. "Now, listen
carefully. You must take this bucket and go back into Asgard. First,
get into position where the wind will blow from you toward all of the
gods. That will stop the fighting. Then if you advance with the bucket
you will be able to drive the Hel-brood, Loki, Garm, Jormungandr,
Fenris and Hel before you. When each is back in the place where they
were originally imprisoned, pour the contents of this bucket over
Loki's chains, the silken cord that bound Fenris, the water in which
Jormungandr coils, and the door to Niflheim. Then you can bring Thrud
safely here."

"What's in it?" Kevan asked.

"There's no time to tell you now," Alviss said. "But I guarantee you
that this will stop Ragnarok if you get there before the fighting
has stopped. If you do as I say, it will also keep Loki and his pack
chained up. There will be only one way they can ever get loose in the
future--and that will be all right. Now, hurry."

Kevan MacGreene ran down the tunnel, swinging the bucket at his side.
If anything, the odor from the bucket spurred him on to greater speed.

The great bridge Bifrost still stood when he once again braked the jeep
beside Yggdrasil. Thrud sat sadly beneath the tree, but the serpent
looked up in excitement as Kevan jumped from the jeep.

"You may just have time," he said. "I can hear the hoofbeats of Surtr's
horses, but they still have some distance to come."

"Thanks," said Kevan. He waved encouragement to Thrud and leaped on
the back of Sleipnir. He dug his heels into the great horse's side and
Sleipnir took off up the bridge with the speed of the wind.

As the horse leaped madly from the other end of the bridge, Kevan
caught a glimpse of the fighters. He saw Thor battling valiantly
against a serpent so huge that there seemed no end to his coils; saw
Vidar warding off the slashing leap of the giant wolf that earlier had
been fighting with Odin; saw the one-armed Tyr drawing more blood from
the already stained watchdog, Garm. Then Sleipnir was circling around
the fight, traveling at such speed that the figures blurred. Kevan held
to the saddle with one hand and with the other held high the bucket.

       *       *       *       *       *

After a moment, he became aware that the giant horse had slowed down,
that he no longer heard the sounds of battle. He looked around and saw
all the battling gods stiff and unmoving as though suddenly frozen in
action.

Kevan touched his knee to Sleipnir's neck and the gray horse headed
for the group. Kevan held the bucket in front of him. Slowly, some of
the figures came to life, began to move backward ahead of him. Fenris
the Wolf slavered and snarled and Jormungandr's hissing was like the
sound of a tornado, but they moved steadily before him. Garm growled
threateningly; curses spilled from the lips of the black and white Hel,
but they too gave ground. Only Hel's army of the dead and Loki remained
unmoved in the face of their defeat.

One by one, Kevan MacGreene put the legion of evil back in their
prisons and sealed the chains and the doors with the contents of the
bucket. The last one was Jormungandr, who slid his giant coils back
into the ocean and waited with flattened head. Kevan poured the last of
the bucket into the ocean, heard Jormungandr twist and splash, saw the
ocean turn a strange and fearsome blue. Then he flung the bucket from
him and, weak-kneed, rode back toward Bifrost.

As the gray horse came down off the rainbow bridge, Kevan heard a
strange noise and realized that it was the serpent singing "For he's a
jolly good fellow" only slightly off key. He collapsed over the horse
in hysterical laughter.

As he fell off the horse, Thrud rushed up and kissed him on the cheek.
At the moment, that seemed a greater reward than the fact that he was
alive.

Kevan and Thrud said goodbye to Nidhoggr, the serpent, who furtively
shook a tear from his eyes and went back to gnawing on the roots of
Yggdrasil as the jeep bounced away.

For the third time that night, Kevan MacGreene walked up the tunnel
in the hill across from the four kings' palace. This time, Thrud
walked ahead of him. As they reached the chamber, Alviss was nervously
waiting. With a little cry, Thrud rushed ahead, picked the dwarf up
from the ground and hugged him to her breast.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was a long and passionate clinch. While it was going on, Kevan
suddenly realized that his job was finished and that he was tired. It
had been a long night's work. Finally, when he could wait no longer, he
leaned over and tapped the dwarf on the shoulder.

Alviss tore his lips from Thrud's and looked over his shoulder,
scowling. "Go get your own woman," he said.

"I was about," Kevan said with dignity, "to announce that I was
leaving. I wondered if perhaps you might know of a shorter way back
than the way I came. I'm rather tired and would like to get home as
soon as I can."

"Put me down, dear," Alviss told Thrud. She obeyed and the little dwarf
seemed to listen a moment. Then he picked up his pickaxe and strode
over to the wall. With a few swings, he'd opened a fairly large hole.

"There," he said to Kevan, "that'll let you into a subway passage
that's right beneath Shanachie's office. I must admit that I'm grateful
to you, Kevan MacGreene."

"Think nothing of it," Kevan said. He started to step through the hole,
then hesitated. "There is one thing I'd like to know," he said.

"What?"

"What was in that mixture that stopped Ragnarok and is strong enough to
hold the evil gods of Asgard?"

"Just what the recipe called for," Alviss said proudly. "All of the
pitch-blende in the world. The egos of a general, a dictator, and a
number of lesser persons. The vanity of some American Congressmen. The
greed of an infinite number of men. One drop of blood from the left
thumb of a communist, a capitalist, a religious fanatic, a censor,
a racist, and from every man in the world who would like to be a
little better than some other man. A drop of marrow, as a substitute
for blood, from all executive vice-presidents. One page each from
a contract, a mortgage, a promissory note, an international cartel
agreement. Three corporation charters. One lobbyist's expense account.
Finger-nail cuttings from every politician in the world. All of these
boiled together in the juice of man's inhumanity to man. Your world is
now minus all of those things, but we achieved a brew which possessed
more evil than Loki and his pack could stand."

"I can still remember the odor," Kevan said nodding.

"What it contained that may be of value, if used differently," said
Alviss, "can sometime be regained by a world in which the mortals
cannot misuse them. Although such action will also release Loki, it
will then do no harm. When men are not evil, then their gods dare not
be. Now, be along with you, Kevan MacGreene--I have a spot of courting
to do."

Kevan stepped through the hole and found himself in a subway station.
He hurried up the stairs and a moment later stepped out on the streets
of New York.

While he'd been sure that it was almost daylight when he'd left Alviss,
here it was only approaching evening. Although he did not look closely,
being in a hurry to check in, it seemed to him that there was something
different about everything in the city.

He finally arrived at the corner of Fourth and Twelfth Streets and
stopped, puzzled. There ahead of him was the sign _TROUBLESHOOTERS,
INC._, but it was on a fine modern building that looked as if it were
made from spun glass. He could have sworn that it had been on an old
brownstone building. Deciding that it must have been the hangover, he
hurried inside.

"Kathleen," he shouted to the dark-haired girl at the desk.

She looked up with a friendly but distant smile. "I beg your pardon,"
she said.

       *       *       *       *       *

Kevan looked at her and frowned. She looked almost exactly like
Kathleen Culanna, even to the emerald green eyes, but she was
different. "You're not Kathleen Culanna," he said.

The girl shook her head. "No," she said, "I'm afraid that she left some
time ago. You must be one of our men, aren't you?"

"Yes," said Kevan. "Kevan MacGreene's the name. You can be telling his
nibs I'm back." The more he looked at the girl the more he thought he'd
recover from the disappointment of not seeing Kathleen. "And what's
your name?"

"Colleen Dannan."

"A pretty name to go with a pretty lass," Kevan said. "Is his nibs in?"

"Yes, Mr. Shanachie is in," the girl said. "He asked me to give you
your salary check if you came in this way." She held up a pink oblong
of paper.

"Salary, then, is it?" said Kevan, reaching for it. "It must be that
he remembered I said that I was broke. You know I never did learn what
this job pays."

"I believe the pay for agents is ten dollars a week," said Colleen.

"Ten dollars a week?" said Kevan, feeling the rage grow in him. "Why,
of all the doublecrossing, thieving--" He broke off and gulped. He'd
just looked at the check and saw the figure that was written on it.
_Pay to the order of Kevan MacGreene $468,000.00._ "There must be some
mistake," he said in a weak voice. "This check is for almost a half a
million dollars."

"No mistake," the dark-haired girl said with a smile. "You were working
in the land of the Little People, weren't you?"

Kevan nodded.

"And you were there for a whole night?"

Kevan nodded again.

"Then there's no mistake," the girl said. "One night in the land of the
Little People is the same as nine hundred years here. This is the year
2852 and that represents your back pay."

For a moment, the room spun about Kevan MacGreene's head. He gripped
the desk hard and hung on and after a moment he could see a pair of
emerald green eyes clearly. They looked friendly--and soothing.

"Colleen Dannan," he said, "would you have dinner with me and explain
all of this again while you're holding my hand to protect me from the
shock?"

"He's waiting for you," the girl said, indicating the door. "Ask me
when you come back. If I'm still here, I will."

Kevan MacGreene took two steps toward the door and then came back,
shaking his head.

"No," he said firmly. "If I've been working nine hundred years then I'm
entitled to a night off. And I lost one girl by walking through that
door. I'm taking no chances on this one. Come with me, Colleen--you're
going to dinner."

And that is how Colleen Dannan, a descendent of Macha De Dannan
herself, came to have dinner with Kevan MacGreene, but one generation
and nine hundred years removed from the County Ulster.