The Monstrous Child by Francesca Simon

Author:Francesca Simon [Francesca Simon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780571330287
Publisher: Faber and Faber
Published: 2016-08-28T04:00:00+00:00

While we’re on the subject of death journeys, here’s a useful tip. Pack your jewels and inlaid shields and gold arm rings and ditch the rest. Because you would not believe the junk the deceased bring with them. Hams. Sheep’s heads. Apples. Mead buckets. Why? Did they think it was going to be one non-stop feast here? One eternal party with dancing bears and fighting? Swords, axes, brooches, pots, coins, cauldrons, grindstones, helmets, sickles, stools, goblets, horses, dogs, slaves, hawks. Thanks awfully for the silver spoon and I can always use another gold ring, but no thanks for the broken pots and bent swords.

When the corpses find out that I take everything valuable they’ve brought for tribute – which is only fair, mind you; they are living here for eternity, the guests who never leave, the guests who stink like long-dead fish – they yell and scream even more. But what were they hoping to buy – a new body?

Once I’ve grabbed what I want, the gold and jewels to decorate my hall and fill my treasure rooms, I have the trash flung outside. Let them fight over it. They drift about rustling like dry leaves, gripping some old cup as if their life – ha ha – depended on it. I tell you, it’s like a grisly bring-and-buy sale held on a reeking rubbish tip.

That One-Eye. What a mean trick he played on his followers, telling them that every man who died in battle would enter Valhall with as much wealth as he had on his pyre. What a death jest. What a liar.

Those Valkyries nabbed everyone they needed in the time before time. Valhall’s doors are shut. The benches are full. No one can budge up at the nightly feast.

Hero, you’re too late. I’m your hostess in the afterdeath.

Hard luck.

Bad fate.

Yeah, whatever.

You might as well drop that sword now and be a farmer. Forget the battle heroics and do something else. Because, whatever happens, you’re coming to me.

Sorry to be the one to break the news, but at least this way you’ll be prepared for the inevitable rude welcome Chez Hel.

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