Major Marlowe looked up from the assault rifle he was reassembling for the thirtieth time. "What's eating the damn dwarf now?" the marine officer asked.
Chris shook his head.
"Search me. The fact that he's out of his element, maybe? After all, the ancient Norse thought of the deep as a place for sunken boats and fishes."
"I thought you were some sort of expert on the Aesir. And you aren't sure why the thing is foaming at the mouth?"
"I said I don't know. Why don't you go over and ask him yourself?"
Marlowe gave Chris a sour glance. "Sidle up to that stench and ask Loki's damn dwarf to explain its feelings? Hmph. I'd rather spit in an Aesir's eye."
From the left side of the cabin, Zap O'Leary leaned out and grinned at Marlowe.
"Dig it, daddyo. There's an Aes over by the scope, dope. Be my guest. Write him runes in his spitoon."
The eccentric technician gestured toward the Navy men clustered around the sub's periscope. Next to the Skipper stood a hulking figure clad in furs and leather, towering over the submariners.
Marlowe blinked back at O'Leary in bewilderment. The marine seemed less offended than confused. "What did he say?" he asked Chris.