you’re not a doctor?’
‘Yes. Now if I could just get past . . .’
Minerva, former goddess of Wisdom, stood her ground. She was still in her dressing gown, worn inside out, and her slippers were on the wrong feet. ‘I told them,’ she said, ‘I want to see a doctor. I keep telling them, you know, but they don’t listen. Will you have a look at my knee?’
‘If you like,’ said the postman, taking two unobtrusive steps backwards. ‘But I am in fact a postman, and—’
‘They’re still trying to poison me, of course,’ Minerva confided. ‘You tell them, they’ll believe you if you’re a doctor.’
The side door opened, and Thor put his head round. Having taken in the scene at a glance, he winked at the postman, tiptoed up behind Minerva and shouted very loudly indeed in her ear.
‘Right,’ he said, a few moments later, ‘shouldn’t have any more nonsense out of her for a day or two. Last time she didn’t come down for a week. Have you got a parcel for me? Registered?’
‘Um,’ replied the postman. Of all the places he delivered to, Sunnyvoyde was the one he dreaded most. Since his round also included the Grand Central Abattoir, the explosives factory and the Paradise Hill Home for Stray Killer Dogs, this was probably significant.
‘Name of Thor?’ he asked.
‘That’s me.’
‘Sign here, please.’
Back in the seclusion of his room, Thor ripped the package open and ploughed his way through the obligatory balls of rolled-up newspaper and grifzote shapes until he found what he was looking for. He examined it.
For once they hadn’t sent the wrong bit. He was impressed. Maybe his luck was about to change.
He stuffed the small metal object into the pocket of his cardigan and stumped off to find Odin. On his way he bumped into Frey, who was trying without much success to hide a bunch of bananas down the front of his jacket.
‘Has it come?’ Frey asked.
Thor nodded, and produced the object. ‘Probably not quite to size,’ he said, ‘but we can soon have a few thou. off it with the file, and then with luck we should be in business. Why are you trying to hide those bananas up your jumper?’
‘Sssh,’ Frey hissed. ‘I’m not supposed to eat bananas, the old bag thinks they give me wind.’
‘And do they?’
‘Whose side are you on, exactly?’
Half an hour later, the vital component was in place, and the three gods stood nervously beside their pride and joy. Somehow the thought that when the crank turned, this time the engine might fire and run and the beast would be back in action once again was extremely unnerving, and the emotions registering on the gods’ unconscious minds must have been akin to those of a doctor who, having managed to eliminate all known illnesses and cure death itself, suddenly remembers that he has a wife, three children and a mortgage to think of.
‘Ready?’
‘Suppose so.’
Odin rolled up his sleeve, gripped the handle firmly, and turned it. There was a clatter, a dull thump and—
‘Gosh,’ Frey said, ‘it works. Well I never.’
‘There’s no need to sound quite so surprised,’ Odin replied. ‘I mean, it was really pretty straightforward when you think about it.’
‘Was it?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Where did I get the idea that it was horrendously difficult from, then, I wonder.’
They stood for a while, staring. Ten seconds later, it was still working. And ten seconds after that. And ten seconds after that . . .
‘Okay,’ Thor said briskly. ‘Now we’ve got it going again, what are we actually going to do with it?’
To the gods all things are possible, all things are known. ‘Um,’ said Odin.
‘I mean,’ Thor went on after a longish pause, ‘there’s all sorts of things we could do with it.’
‘Oh yes.’
‘All sorts of things.’
‘The possibilities are endless.’
‘Only . . .’ Thor bit his lip. ‘Just now, like on the spur of the moment, I can’t quite remember, you know, offhand . . .’
Small,