One horse was called Red-foot Swiftsure
And she was . . .”
Well, this went on for some time, since Hrundig took care to specify by name all the offspring he sired on Fat Hoskuld’s mares and ewes and sows until the saints started wailing that Hrundig was stalling and so Hrundig veered back on to his other sins:
“So I smote Fat Hoskuld in the eyeball
With my spear which got stuck in the socket
So I drew my sword and smashed Hoskuld’s
Two nephews in the head but the sword
Bent over the head of the second nephew
Who was called Ingemar the Dimwitted
Before I bent my sword over his head.
Afterwards he was called Ingemar the
Dimmerwitted. But because my sword bent,
Fat Hoskuld’s nephews went at me with
Their axes and I was forced to duck and dodge
While I took a rock and hammered the sword
As straight as I could while I was ducking
And dodging. Then I bent it again over Gunnar
The Low-Browed who was called Gunnar
The No-Browed afterward. But my sword bent again
And now Gunnar’s uncle Ulf the Unwashed came at me
So I dropped the sword and used my own axe—”
“Which one?” I demanded. “You’ve got to say which one, Hrundig!”
“That is true. I mean the axe which I got
From Golf the Fearless when I met him at a
River crossing and he would not let me pass
So I struck him with my spear and took his
Axe after he died after I pushed his head
Under water after my spear bent.
I took the same axe and smote Golf’s
Brother Ragnar at another river crossing
When Ragnar wanted weregild but I would
Not pay it. Instead I cut off his leg with the
Axe but Ragnar hopped back to his horse
And took up his own axe and came at me but I
Cut off his other leg but Ragnar crawled back
To his horse and took his spear and crawled
Back so I hit his head but the axe bent
Even though his head bent also. So I took my
Own spear and spilled Ragnar’s guts but he
Writhed to his horse and took up his mace and
Hauled himself back along his own guts and I
Cut off his arm but he wriggled back to his
Horse and took up his dagger in his teeth
And squirmed like an eel back toward me but I
Broke all his teeth with my spear but the
Spear bent when he had two molars left.
So Ragnar chewed on my boot but I took up my
Other boot and struck him on the head again
Many times until his head bent further
But so did my boot but then he—”
“Enough! Enough!” shrieked the saints. “Petition granted! Petition granted!”
Hrundig stepped aside. “Does it every time,” he smirked, as he sauntered past me.
* * *
I couldn’t stall any longer. I gave Gwendolyn a glance. She was staring at me, her dark face almost pale. Her lips trembled, as if she were on the verge of whispering something.
She wouldn’t, of course. Not Gwendolyn. But I knew what she wanted to say. Please, Ignace. Do it for me.
Sighing, I took Greyboar by the elbow and stepped up to the table with him.
“He’s Greyboar the strangler,” I muttered, “and I’m—”
But Jack was already scribbling my name into the ledger right after Greyboar’s. “Piece of cake, this one!” he cried. “Can still make it to lunch!”
He swiveled his head. The saints were squinting at us. Jack got a sour look on his face. Very sour.
“Oh, come on,” he whined. “What more do you want? A professional serial killer and his accomplice ain’t good enough for you?”
The saints sniffed. “Possible duplicity,” muttered one. “Not about the sins, of course,” added another, “but about the mending of wicked ways.”
A moment later they started that damned intoning business again: “Need insurance! Need insurance!”
Jack sighed and rubbed his face. “All right,” he grumbled, swiveling his head back toward the Evil Horizon. “Send out a bonding agent!”
Another belch, and out came a rotund little creature looking not so much like a fallen angel as one who’d never risen in the first place. The butterball rolled to his talons and trotted forward cheerfully.