Tom Holt by Odds;Gods

Author:Odds;Gods
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-04-12T00:55:43+00:00

Perversely, the traction engine started first time.

‘Hey,’ Thor enquired, dumbfounded, ‘how the devil did you do that?’

Lundqvist shrugged. ‘I just pulled this handle thing here,’ he said. ‘Look, let’s get the hell out of here, all right?’

‘Switch it off and do it again. You can’t have done it right.’

‘Oh, for crying out loud,’ Frey muttered. A Cistercian SWAT team had just discovered the stunned sentry. ‘Give it some welly and let’s go, quickly. Any more of this nonsense and I shan’t be responsible.’

The Vatican authorities plainly hadn’t had the faintest idea what one is supposed to do with a captured supernatural traction engine deposited out of the blue in one’s back courtyard. Anyone with an ounce of sense would have disconnected the main rotor arm from the forcing toggle and withdrawn the split pin from the auxiliary drive sprocket, thereby immobilising the entire subordinate transmission; but the helpless unworldly monks hadn’t even unclipped the Hodgson cable or overridden the HST. In all likelihood, Thor speculated, as the engine roared into life and lifted off vertically into the air, if a lightbulb goes they pray at it till it comes back on again. Idiots.

‘Where to now?’ Thor shouted over the roar of the flywheel.

‘Home,’ Odin replied, ‘sharpish. There’s still an outside chance She won’t have noticed we’re not there.’

‘Pretty thin chance.’

‘Never mind. Set a course north-north-west.’

‘Right you are.’ Frey was at the controls; a classic example of the wrong man in the wrong place at the wrong time. ‘Which one’s that?’

‘The lever on your left,’ Odin replied, ‘just above your cufflink.’

‘What, this one?’

‘No, that’s the cigar lighter.’

Lundqvist leant back against the smoke-stack, speculating as to who the hell these imbeciles were, and how soon he’d be able to get away from them. So far, he was painfully aware, his role in the quest to frustrate the diabolical schemes of Julian and the godchildren was very similar to that of sugar in petrol. What he needed in order to get his act together was a few hours to gather his thoughts and regroup, at least three self-loading firearms and a nice strong cup of coffee; none of which were likely to come his way as long as he was stuck on this amazing contraption with these three geriatric lunatics.

‘Guys,’ he said, ‘where is it exactly you’re headed?’

‘Droitwich.’

‘Where?’

‘Well, just outside Droitwich, to be precise,’ Thor replied. ‘About three miles west and two miles straight up. The postal address is Sunnyvoyde.’

Lundqvist hazarded a guess. ‘The retired gods’ home, right?’

‘Yeah.’

This, Lundqvist felt, just wasn’t good enough. Wherever Osiris was headed, it most certainly wasn’t the place he’d escaped from. Instinctively, though knowing in his heart it was in vain, he frisked himself for some sort of weapon. Anything, anything at all - even a Walther Model 9 in 6.35mm loaded, if need be, with 50 grain jacketed hardball - would be better than nothing. Still. Needs must.

‘Okay,’ he snapped, standing up and (as the engine passed through a patch of slight turbulence) sitting down again, ‘this is a hijack.

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