The Nick of Time (and other abrasions)
Maxwell’s Silver Hammer
by
Al Bruno III
The three of them ran across Route d'Abbaye, and after a moment’s pause they jumped the fence. The first landed with quiet cat-like grace. The second moved slowly, quietly and deliberately.
The third caught his pant leg on the top of the fence and fell hitting the ground with a cry and a crash.
*
“Why do we keep ending up like this?” the girl with burgundy hair and clunky boots asked. She and her companions had their hands and fingers tightly bound behind their backs and Runes of Enfeeblement had been painted on their foreheads.
“Because of him, its always because of him,” the imposing black man with graying dreadlocks said as they were shoved and goaded down the stairway by women with crazy eyes and short skirts, “I swear he gets us captured on purpose.”
“Zeth! I’m hurt, well and truly hurt,” Jason Magwier said as he surveyed his surroundings. His hair was curly and close cropped, his eyes were dark and they almost twinkled in the firelight, “Now don’t ether of you worry. We’ll be fine as long as I play it low key.”
The basement they were goaded into was a makeshift temple. Banners and graffiti extolling the virtues of the great god Thor covered each wall. At one end of the room was a worn anvil. Past the anvil was a high backed wooden chair, a hulking figure sat upon it.
“Does every bloodthirsty cult have the same decorator or something?” Lorelei mused as she and her companions were forced to their knees.
Magwier agreed, “And why are they always in a basement of some sort or another. Why not a nice upper floor suite?”
“Silence!” the figure on the throne shouted.
“Although you can’t fault the acoustics can you?”
The tall man stepped from the throne and approached them. He had a silver plated war-hammer slung over one shoulder. He was shirtless revealing long blonde hair and muscles that were just beginning to go soft with age, “You dared to desecrate our holy temple.”
“It was an accident. Dr. Flesh was-” Zeth tried to explain only to be silenced by a slap from one of the women.
Magwier’s eyes blazed with anger, “Now you stop this Stan Maxwell. We aren’t looking for trouble.”
The tall man frowned, “You know me?”
“Well, of course. You were the starting quarterback for the Minnesota Vikings from 1992 until 1995. Then you were tragically sidelined by a spinal injury.”
Lorelei sighed, “A jock and a bloodthirsty cultist? Just great.”
“I was chosen,” Stan explained, “that injury was Thor’s will.”
“Hail Thor!” the four women cheered.
Magwier stood, “As my friend tried to explain this was all a terrible misunderstanding. If you’ll just let us leave I’m sure-”
“No. You must pay for your crimes,” the tall man said, “with your lives.”
“Our lives? Doesn’t anyone get punished with community service anymore?”
Two of the women hustled Jason Magwier to the altar, there was an indentation perfect to cradle a human head. They held him down, pushing his cheek against the dried blood and slivers of skull.
“Please tell me this is part of his plan...” a quiver of worry crept into Lorelei’s voice.
Zeth snorted, “Please don’t tell me you think he’s got a plan.”
“Mighty Thor, lord of thunder...” Stan raised the war-hammer from his shoulder.
“Hail Thor!” the women cheered again.
“...Accept these sacrifices to sate your appetite for the great battle of Ragnarok.”
Jason Magwier began to laugh, a high pitched mocking cackle.
“Silence!” Stan lowered the hammer and then raised it again. The four women looked at each other in confusion, they’d never had a sacrifice do this before.
“I’m sorry,” Magwier snickered, “I know it’s disrespectful but... You mean to kill me with that mallet?”
“Mallet? This is the Hammer of Thor!”
The women said, “Hail Thor!”
Jason Magwier smiled, “Oh I’m sure it’s very impressive but it’s not going to even leave a bruise on me.”
Stan leaned forward, “Magic will not protect you.”
“Oh yes. The runes. Very impressive but there’s more to me than simple incantations,” Magwier laughed again, “I’ve lived in the future so I can’t very well die in the past can I?”
“You make no sense.”
“I suppose to your limited intellect it seems that way, but never mind. Smash away my good man. Smash away.”
Stan raised the silver plated war-hammer again, holding it over his head instead of his shoulder.
“But you getter get it right the first time,” Magwier said, “or you’re going to ruin a perfectly good mallet.”
“It’s not a mallet!” Stan’s face was turning purple with rage, “It is the Hammer of Thor!”
“Hail Thor!”
“Shut up!” he screamed at the women. “And you! I will pound you into dust with a single blow!”
Jason Magwier nodded condescendingly, “Sure you will.”
Bellowing with rage Stan Maxwell raised himself to his full height and hefted the hammer as far back as his muscles would allow.
There was a soft crack and Stan froze in place.
“Oh dear,” Magwier said, “sounds like someone just aggravated an old spinal injury...”
The priest of Thor whimpered and fell backwards. The four women ran to him babbling with worry. They were so busy fretting over Stan that they didn’t even realize Jason Magwier had freed himself from the ropes...
*
They walked out of the main gate. “You took an awful chance,” Zeth said.
Jason Magwier was carrying Maxwell’s silver hammer in his arms, “Nonsense. I knew what to do the very moment I realized they were Thor-worshippers.”
“And what was that?” Lorelei asked.
“Just like I said earlier,” Magwier smiled, “I played it low-key... or should I say Loki?”
Zeth chuckled. Lorelei rolled her eyes, “I can’t believe I’m sleeping with you.”
