The Valkyrie (8 page)

“Oi, fuck off.”
Glory barked like a Doberman. Amethyst looked bewildered and backed
off like a wounded rabbit.

“Such a
fucktard. She described Freya’s piss. What strange dryads you
attract Bea. Anyone want some more mead?” Glory asked having noted
the abundance of empty glasses in their hands.

“I need some.”
Liberty said.

“Ditto. What do
you think of mead Bea?” Honour asked. Glory and Liberty walked off
towards the bar get some more pints leaving the other two to
talk.

“I like it,
it’s quite yummy.” Bea was heard to say.

***

Glory and
Liberty were standing at the bar both trying to make eye contact
with an inattentive barmaid when they both felt an arm go around
their shoulders. Liberty’s face fell; she had seen this one coming.
Standing in the middle of them, like the pervy ham in a Valkyrie
sandwich, was Odin. Odin was old; he was less of a silver fox and
more of a flasher mac type.

“Is your new
girl a virgin? I like to break them in. How old is she?” Odin liked
them young.

“Lord Odin,
good evening.” Liberty said, holding the rage in.

“I’m not sure
off the top of my head.” Glory said diplomatically.

“Is she legal?”
Odin asked.

“Since when did
you care? Don’t mix business with pleasure your lordship; it’ll get
you into all sorts of trouble.” Glory was surprised that she got
away with saying that.

“Too right you
are, too right.” Odin said with mirth as he placed his hand on
Liberty’s arse.

“Mead your
lordship?” asked Liberty.

“Why yes thank
you.” Odin said. Glory had finally signalled to the awful barmaid
who handed her a pint into which she slyly dropped a little blue
pill while Odin stared at Liberty’s tits.

“Here you go.”
Glory said handing over the unholy pint.

“Thank you
Glory. I trust I will be seeing more of the both you this evening,
together, naked?” asked Odin, again.

“That is a most
tantalising offer, but as always we take our solemn duty very
seriously, very seriously indeed.” Glory said gravely.

“Unfortunately
we’re busy at the moment, what with the Second Korean War coming
up. You can expect the documents soon.” Liberty was still being
touched up by the old pervert.

“Erm quite,
quite.” Odin said.

“Good evening,
Lord Odin.” Liberty glanced at Glory.

“Good evening.”
Glory said as both of the girls curtseyed and excused themselves
with a pint in each hand.

“Ew!” Liberty
was trying hard not to convulse and spill the mead down her
dress.

“How did you
not see that one coming with your vision, it was as broad as day?”
asked Glory.

“I did, I took
one for the team.” Liberty was still really creeped out.

“I’ll chalk it
up on the pervert board in the kitchen. That earned you at least an
extra lie in next week.”

“What did you
put in his drink?” Liberty was buoyed by her friend’s mini
revenge.

“He’ll soon
find out.” Glory said. She looked proud of herself. They strolled
back to Honour and Bea and give them their pints. They toasted to
their good fortune and all took long sips of their drinks.

“Drink up girls
The Queen’s Head awaits.” Honour said excitably.

“Bottoms up.”
they all said in unison.

“Oh gods, Sigyn
alert.” Glory said.

“Does she
know?” Liberty asked Glory.

“Of course
not.” Glory said.

“Know what?”
asked Bea as the tepid Sigyn ambled over. She was a mousy creature,
who you wished would soon have some form of small breakdown during
which she’d discover her own indomitable spirit. Sigyn was sad to
look at and even sadder to think about.

“Hello girls,
how are you this evening?” asked Sigyn.

“Sigyn, great.
How are you?” said Honour.

“Never ask her
that, she’s the type of twat who will actually tell you.” hissed
Glory at Honour.

“I’m great, I
bought some new crochet patterns this morning. I’m branching out
into doilies. So exciting. Very intricate they are…” said Sigyn
breathily.

“Fascinating,
have you met Bea our newest member?” Liberty said before Sigyn
could tell them any more about her doily ambitions.

“Oh no, hello.
How lovely.” Sigyn shook Bea’s hand rather limply.

“Hello, nice to
meet you.” Bea said.

“Awfully sorry
Sigyn, but we’re just about to leave. We’re under deadline.” Glory
said.

“Oh, of course.
Well I was about to say that…” said Sigyn about to start up again,
but it was too late the girls had all turned tail and left.

“Bye, Sigyn,
bye.” Honour said over her shoulder.

“What doesn’t
she know?” Bea asked Liberty quietly.

“Glory is sort
of shagging her husband Loki.” Liberty said even quieter.

“It’s only
oral. That doesn’t count.” Glory said as the merry quartet stormed
out of Valhalla and on towards to The Queen’s Head.

The Queen’s Head used to be a
proper East End boozer and that was how Glory liked to remember it.
It was Victorian in origin and still had some of its grimy Jack the
Ripper charm. The windows were stained glass and the carpet beer
stained from shakily held glasses. There were less old men in there
these days but more young men dressed old with their ironic facial
hair and penny farthings, or whatever ludicrous retro-vintage fad
was going on that week. There were a few regulars, like Ted who
didn’t say much and Bert and Arthur who squabbled over articles in
The Daily Express, but more and more the clientele were nice boys
and girls, from nice families, who had nice jobs and edgy haircuts.
Honour had once seen a television show called Eastenders and was
convinced that the show would have to end when the cafe was taken
over by a gluten free bakery and the laundrette became a pop-up art
gallery come restaurant come performing arts venue. Geoff the
landlord couldn’t complain, he was raking it in from all these
ironic sherry drinkers, but he harked back to the good old days
when pork scratchings were eaten in earnest and you could be
casually homophobic and no one gave a shit. That night was the pub
quiz and Geoff stood near the bar in his blue polo shirt reading
out tremendously easy questions in a monotonous fashion. The girls
all had a minimum of three drinks each already on the table and
there was hardly any room for the answer sheet.

“Right, number
eleven: who was the first black President of The United States of
America?” asked Geoff.

“Not a clue.
Geoff why do you ask such trivial questions? When’s the round on
thermonuclear dynamics?” asked Glory with zero irony.

“I don’t know
why they ask questions about US politicians. Their Presidents are
the least powerful people in the country. Liberty you should know
this they idolise you." Honour said to a distracted Liberty.

“Fat lot of
good it’s done them. Val knows this kind of froth. Anyone want
another?” asked Liberty as she did the international drinking hand
signal to the group as she went to the bar. Zoë the bar maid rushed
over after spotting her opening and quickly cleared away the
empties. They were running out of shot glasses.

“I couldn’t get
through to Val on the phone this arvo.” Honour said.

“Val leaving us
at a time like this with this wretched pub quiz, t’was very selfish
of her.” Glory said.

“It was George
W. Bush, wasn’t it?” said Honour.

“Sounds like a
good enough guess to me. Bea put that down.” Glory said as Bea
wrote Obama down on the sheet.

“Liberty’s a
bit off this evening. Normally she’d have got that question, or she
would have at least cheated by predicting Geoff reading out the
answer in an hour’s time, even though she knows I strongly
disapprove of that sort thing.” Honour said.

Liberty came
back to the table with a round of Tequila. The Valkyries made quite
a sight to see, but gods are only ever truly seen by mortals when
they let them. To the onlookers in the pub they merely looked like
a group of stunningly attractive, overdressed girls having a good
time. It was like seeing something extraordinary out of the corner
of your eye and then dismissing what you glimpsed as a fabrication.
The questions rolled on and the drinks poured.

***

“Question
number 42: who wrote Sense & Sensibility?” read Geoff.

“Who gives a
flying fuck?” asked Glory who was beginning to get a little shouty
drunk. That wasn’t a good sign. That usually meant that some shit
was going to go down at some point in the evening.

“Really Glory,
that’s not the spirit of things.” Honour was beginning to think
Glory’s lack of sportsmanship was, well, dishonourable to the team
and other players.

“That wasn’t a
rhetorical question.” Glory said.

“Calm down over
there or I will have to disqualify you. What was your team name
again?” asked Geoff, this being the sixth time he’d threatened to
disqualify their team for Glory’s lack of decorum.

“I don’t know
that I can read it out…” Bea tailed off.

“Oh, oh, oh”
said Liberty.

“Are you
coming?” asked Glory.

“No, I actually
know the answer.” Liberty said proudly.

“It’s Jane
Austen.” Glory was sure she had once stood next to dear Jane at a
ball and they bonded over how dull it all was, although she
couldn’t for the life of her remember why she felt the need to
dance a cotillion in the first place. The Nineteenth Century
(Common Era) was a bit of a giddy blur to Glory.

“You thief. You
stole my thunder.” Liberty burst into a fit of giggles “Thunder? Oh
come on it’s funny.”

“What’s fucking
Apollo like Liberty? No? You’re not going to answer that are you?
That’s a bonus round question. Anyone want some coke? I want some
coke.” said Glory.

“Yeah alright,
but only if it’s the good stuff.” Honour said. Glory and Honour got
up and wobbled off to the disabled loos together to do lines of
Honour’s house keys. The questions continued rolling on by like
tumbleweed, the drinks were overflowing and the lines were all
snorted.

***

Liberty’s
cheeks were numb and the room spun above her. She could feel the
throb of a vision coming on again but every time she tried to focus
all she could see were those bastard flowers from earlier but they
were becoming more and more pressing. Liberty didn’t recognise the
variety but she thought they looked like lilacs. She could feel her
chest tighten with the weight of fate. That night was going to be
something. Bea had been a little quiet since they got to the
pub.

“What did you
think of Valhalla Bea?” asked Liberty.

“It was
interesting.” Bea said tactfully.

“It’s a shit
hole. Odin is a pervert; there are so many chairs I’d rather sit
on. And Freya, how one deity can be both that lazy and have that
degree of influence is beyond me.” Liberty said slurring a
little.

“Liberty, are
you drunk?” asked Bea.

“Oh yes.”
Liberty said.

“Do you love
Apollo?” asked Bea catching Liberty off guard.

“No, I don’t.
He’s cute but deranged” Liberty said “Although, he’s a good fuck
you know?”

“I don’t.” Bea
said.

“You don’t?
What, you’re still a virgin? No, don’t say it too loudly that’s
highly sort after amongst some of the less gentlemanly gods. I’d
screw you.”

“Promise?”
asked Bea.

“You can have
all the foresight in the universe but when presented with such a
god as Apollo. I turn into this, this puddle. It’s nine inches deep
and I drown in it. I don’t want to marry him. I’ve got to be smart.
He gets obsessions quite frequently but proposing marriage is
something quite else. In truth I’m worried. You see I have this
weak spot for poets or really any guy with low self-esteem and a
notebook. As does Glory, our taste in guys overlaps there. On top
of that Drunk Liberty is Sober Liberty’s worst enemy; she sabotages
Sober Liberty all the time like a sloppy Dr Jekyll. Gods I’m
snookered. I should have taken Glory’s advice and stayed away. Say
something pretty and tell me you love me and I’ll be yours.”

“Say something
pretty and tell me you love me.” Bea said.

“Oh Bea, you
are a funny bugger aren’t you.” Liberty said laughing as Glory and
Honour came back buzzing with another bottle of bloody tequila.

“What did we
miss?” asked Honour, fully aware that they’d all stopped paying
attention to the pub quiz about forty minutes previously.

“A fair
amount.” Bea said.

“Geoff? Geoff?
What’s going on? Is it the scores yet? Did we win?” yelled
Glory.

“Calm down you.
Now the quiz is out of 100. I’m going to announce the top three
first and then the team that came last, who are the winners of this
week’s booby prize. In third place was Quizted Sister, 83 points.
In second place was The Quizanthropes, 85 points and big round of
applause first place goes to The Quiztery Machine, 93 points, a
bottle of Blossom Hill for you. Coming in last is team” he said
pausing, squinting at the page before continuing “I lost my
virginity at age, 14 points.” He jabbed his finger at Glory, in
frustration “Any more from you and you’re barred.”

“Don’t be silly
darling Geoffrey. You’d go under in a week without me. What’s the
booby prize? It best be worth it.” Glory said.

“It’s my
ex-wife’s old plug-in foot spa. She only used it a few times.”
Geoff said.

“That is
suitably shit. Bravo Geoffrey, bravo.” said Glory.

“More booze
yeah, more booze.” Liberty said as she poured herself more
shots.

***

The pub was
beginning to bustle with Hackney’s finest before the karaoke
carnage began, a tone deaf petit bourgeoisie got up to sing Bonnie
Tyler ironically, kicking it all off into full ear-bleeding swing.
A few chequered shirted men had propped themselves up at the bar
and were debating the merits of moustache wax whilst their
girlfriends chatted about the yeast cultures growing in their
airing cupboards. One had multiple facial piercings and a barrister
father, and the other worked in a boutique t-shirt shop and was
trying really hard not to let the outside world know that as a
child she had a pony called Effie-May.