فصل 23

I Recycle Myself

WHEN SOMEONE SAYS, It’s the Squirrel, you don’t ask questions. You run. The barking alone was enough to scare the mead out of me.

I grabbed my hotel-issued sword on the way out. Since I was wearing green silk Valhalla pajamas, I doubted I would need it. If I had to fight anyone, they would die laughing before I ever drew the blade.

We burst into the hallway to find T.J. and Mallory already standing there, bleary-eyed and hastily dressed.

“What was that sound?” Mallory scowled at me. “Why do you have a dwarf and an elf in your room?”

“SQUIRREL!” Blitzen yelled, slamming my door shut.

Hearth said the same thing in sign language—a gesture that looked disturbingly like a set of mandibles rending flesh.

T.J. looked like he’d been slapped across the face. “Magnus, what have you done?”

“I need to leave the hotel. Now. Please don’t stop us.”

Mallory cursed in what was maybe Gaelic. Our little hallway group was a veritable United Nations of Cussing.

“We won’t stop you,” she said. “This is going to get us laundry duty for a decade, but we’ll help you.”

I stared at her. “Why? You’ve known me less than a day.”

“Long enough to know you’re an idiot,” she grumbled.

“What she’s trying to say,” T.J. offered, “is that hallmates always protect each other. We’ll cover your escape.”

The door of my room shook. Cracks spiderwebbed from the nameplate. A decorative spear fell off the wall of the corridor.

“X!” T.J. called. “Help!”

The half-troll’s door exploded off its hinges. X lumbered into the hallway as if he’d been standing just inside, waiting for the call. “Yes?”

T.J. pointed. “Magnus’s door. Squirrel.”

“Okay.”

X marched over and shoved his back against my door. It shuddered again, but X held firm. Enraged barking echoed from inside.

Halfborn Gunderson stumbled out of his room wearing nothing but smiley-face boxers, double-bladed axes in his hands.

“What’s going on?” He glowered at Blitz and Hearth. “Should I kill the dwarf and the elf?”

“No!” Blitzen yelped. “Don’t kill the dwarf and the elf!”

“They’re with me,” I said. “We’re leaving.”

“Squirrel,” T.J. explained.

Halfborn’s shaggy eyebrows achieved orbit. “Squirrel as in squirrel squirrel?”

“Squirrel squirrel,” Mallory agreed. “And I’m surrounded by moron morons.”

A raven soared down the hall. It landed on the nearest light fixture and squawked at me accusingly.

“Well, that’s great,” Mallory said. “The ravens have sensed your friends’ intrusion. That means the Valkyries won’t be far behind.”

From the direction of the elevator banks, half a dozen howls pierced the air.

“And those would be Odin’s wolves,” Halfborn said. “Very friendly unless you’re trespassing or leaving the hotel without permission, in which case they’ll tear you apart.”

An unmanly sob started to build in my throat. I could accept being killed by a squirrel, or an army of Valkyries, or even another ax in my face, but not wolves. My legs threatened to give out beneath me.

“Blitz and Hearth”—my voice trembled—“is there any alarm you guys failed to set off?”

Not fair, Hearth signed. We avoided the tree mines.

“Tree mines?” I wasn’t sure I’d understood him correctly.

Halfborn Gunderson hefted his ax. “I’ll slow down the wolves. Good luck, Magnus!”

He charged down the hall screaming, “DEATH!” while the smiley faces rippled on his boxer shorts.

Mallory’s face turned red—with embarrassment or delight, I couldn’t tell. “I’ll stay with X in case the squirrel breaks through,” she said. “T.J., you take them to recycling.”

“Yeah.”

“Recycling?” Blitz asked.

Mallory drew her sword. “Magnus, I can’t say it’s been a pleasure. You’re a true pain in the n?ri. Now get out of here.”

The door of my room shuddered again. Plaster rained from the ceiling.

“The squirrel is strong,” X grunted. “Hurry.”

T.J. fixed his bayonet. “Let’s go.”

He led us down the corridor, his blue Union jacket over his pj’s. I got a feeling he probably slept in that jacket. Behind us, wolves howled and Halfborn Gunderson bellowed in Old Norse.

As we ran, a few einherjar opened their doors to see what was going on. When they spotted T.J. with his bayonet, they ducked back inside.

Left, right, right, left—I lost track of the turns. Another raven shot past, cawing angrily. I tried to swat it.

“Don’t,” T.J. warned. “They’re sacred to Odin.”

We were just passing a T in the hallway when a voice shouted, “MAGNUS!”

I made the mistake of looking.

To our left, fifty feet away, Gunilla stood in full armor, a hammer in either hand. “Take another step,” she snarled, “and I will destroy you.”

T.J. glanced at me. “You three keep going. Next right, there’s a chute marked ‘recycling.’ Jump in.”

“But—”

“No time.” T.J. grinned. “Go kill some rebs for me—or monsters—or whatever.”

He pointed his rifle at the Valkyrie, shouted, “Fifty-Fourth Massachusetts!” and charged.

Hearth grabbed my arm and pulled me along. Blitz found the recycling chute and yanked it open. “GO, GO!”

Hearthstone dove in headfirst.

“You next, kid,” said the dwarf.

I hesitated. The smell coming out of the chute reminded me of my Dumpster-diving days. Suddenly the comforts of the Hotel Valhalla didn’t seem so bad.

Then more wolves howled, closer this time, and I recycled myself.