Accurate History 9.3

Now Thor was able to pass for an average Londoner, give or take a strong Viking accent and a hammer, he had to figure out the next stage of his plan. Thinking strategically was not his favourite thing to do. Most of his plans either involved getting drunk, hitting something with a hammer, or getting drunk and hitting things with his hammer. He had an edgy feeling that this was not going to win him many worshippers.

He paced around the shops. Being Thor, he did spend a lot of time admiring his reflection in the windows. These were very impressive things, ceiling to floor glass walls. He mused idly on how he might incorporate more of them into his personal quarters in Valhalla, then remembered that he wasn’t really allowed back until he got people to believe in him as a god again. He pouted. This had very little effect. Cursing under his breath in Norse, he furrowed his brow in an attempt to think of something he could do that would make someone worship him.

Churches! It came to him in a flash. He grinned. He’d go to a church and see what the people there were worshipping, and do a copy of that and it would all be sorted. He swung Mjolnir up onto his shoulder and cast his eye about for a nearby church. He turned away from the shop window, and beheld the dome of St Paul’s Cathedral. He grinned again at his ridiculous luck, and made his way to the door.

Twenty minutes later, he was less full of grinning. There didn’t seem to be a way in. There was a lot to walk around, and the building itself was very nice indeed, but all the doors were shut. He thought churches were supposed to offer sanctuary for folks in need, but there didn’t seem to be much of that going on. People were sitting on the steps, taking photos of each other pretending to touch the top of the dome, but very little actual worship appeared to be happening. Thor rubbed his chin, and tried to think. He struggled gamely for several minutes before giving up and going back to look at himself in the shop windows.

This time, rather than standing in front of Next and pouting, he ended up in front of a Bang & Olufsen. He approved of the Nordic name. He stared at himself for a few minutes before noticing what was on the other side of the window – a 46-inch flatscreen TV playing a DVD of a Raconteurs gig – not that he knew who it was. He watched as the slightly scruffy men on stage shouted and banged at their guitars, and watched as the thousands in the crowd screamed and threw their hands up in adoration. This was what he had to do: become a rock star.