Troll Mill
Page 7
Arnë may have a boat, he thought. But I’ve got a mill!
He shut his eyes and imagined the yard cleared and swept, with gleaming cobbles. The mill with a new roof of trim, shining thatch. Shutters and doors mended; sheds and outhouses rebuilt. Everything tidy and cool and clean, indoors and out. He saw himself welcoming the neighbors as they brought their sacks of barley and rye. For a second, he even allowed himself to imagine Hilde, standing in the mill doorway, smiling at him and throwing corn to the chickens from the pocket of her apron. There’d be no more miserable hand-grinding for Hilde if she were the miller’s wife….
He’d be that miller: the miller of Troll Fell, the best they’d ever had!
Now to make a start. There’d been some old tools leaning in a corner of the barn, a collection of toothless hay rakes and rusty scythes. He found a battered old shovel and began scraping moss from the cobbles.
Loki watched, his tail swinging slower and slower. At last he seemed to realize that they would not be going to the village after all. He settled down with his nose on his paws, keeping a wary eye trained on the mill.
“That’s right, Loki,” panted Peer. “On guard!” The edge of the shovel rattled noisily over the cobbles, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to hear anyone coming up behind him.
It’s like that game, where one child turns his back, and the others creep up closer and closer…. He whirled, checking the dark openings of the barn and sheds, half expecting to see figures freezing into stillness. Of course, no one was there. It felt almost too quiet.
Can I really change this place?
Thin clouds leaked across the sky like spilled milk, and the sunlight faded. Peer fell into a stubborn rhythm. He kept his head down, still haunted by the feeling that if he looked up, his uncles would be there: Baldur lounging in the doorframe, picking his teeth; Grim caressing the head of his massive dog; both of them keeping their sharp little black eyes fixed on him.
They’ve gone, he repeated to himself. They’ve gone!
At last he took a rest, leaning on the shovel. “What do you think?” he said to Loki, dropping a hand to pat him. “Is that enough for today?”
Loki rose, his short fur bristling under Peer’s fingers. He barked once, staring at the mill door. Peer looked up sharply.
But the mill’s empty! I’m sure it was….
Lifting the shovel like an axe, he tiptoed over the cobbles and sidled up to the mill door. Had something slipped past him while he wasn’t looking? He listened. There was no sound from within. After a second or two he gave the door a push and jumped back. Still nothing moved.
Peer felt foolish. Loki had probably seen a rat. He ducked under the lintel and stepped boldly into the mill. It was much darker inside than it had been earlier, and for a moment or two he was half blind. The musty, moldy smell rose into his nostrils. He coughed, blundered forward a couple of paces, and stood screwing up his eyes, scanning the room. This end, by the door, didn’t bother him. The feeble daylight showed him it was empty, except for a couple of worm-eaten stools and a pile of sacks. But the far end was a different matter. Anything might be crouching up in the shadow-draped loft or hiding in one of the big square grain bins with their slanting lids.
He took another tense step forward, level now with the hearth. Aaahhh! There was a sound like a shifting sigh. Peer swung around. He stared at the dirty bunk beds against the wall. Nothing moved, but the whole shadowy room had the feeling of a joke about to be played, a trap about to be sprung. He prodded the greasy bedclothes nearest to him. They were so snarled together and rolled up, it looked as if a body was lying there—a long, thin body. And that pale fungus made a sort of shapeless head….
“Boo!” The fungus opened two glittering, hungry eyes and a wide, splitlike mouth. It sat up. The other bunk bed heaved and writhed. A second shape catapulted upright and leapfrogged toward him. Peer shrieked and swung the shovel. It connected with a satisfying ding! With an anguished yelp the creature rushed past on flat, slapping feet. The other one followed. Colliding at the door, they wrestled briefly, elbowing and pushing to get out first. They fell into the yard and dashed off in different directions. His blood up, Peer hurled himself after them, charging out in time to see Loki chasing one of them around the end of the barn. Without thinking, he ran after.
Trees grew close to the back of the building. Peer raced through a sea of young nettles, leaving great bruising footmarks. Ahead of him, more marks showed where someone had dashed on ahead.
Peer slid to a halt. He wasn’t going to play tag around the barn—not when they might circle around behind and grab him. He whistled to Loki. “Get back!” he cried, sweeping his arm back toward the yard. Loki streaked off, and Peer hurried the opposite way, hoping that he and Loki would catch the creatures between them. But as he rounded the other end of the barn, Loki was casting about, clearly at a loss, and the yard was empty.
So the lubbers were loose. He shivered, recalling their skinny limbs, cold, clammy hands, and blotchy features. They had lived in the old lean-to privy of wattle and daub, built against the end of the barn nearest the road.
But that’s the answer, he realized. Since my uncles have gone, the lubbers have had the run of the whole mill. They’ve been playing about with the machinery. That’s why the wheel was turning! That’s who followed me up the hill! And if I want the mill for myself, I’ll have to get rid of them. But how?
He stared at the privy. They were sure to be hiding there now. The wormy old door was blocked by a stack of firewood. No one could get through it—but there was a ragged hole in the moldering thatch. Peer stood back and looked at it. He’d made that hole himself, the night he’d escaped from his uncles. But it seemed to have got bigger. Quietly he squeezed up close to the wall and leaned his ear to the decaying surface of crumbling clay and woven twigs.
He heard creaking sounds and a lot of huffing and puffing. An agitated voice broke out, “Ooh, me leg hurts. It hurts! He got me with his shovel.” After a pause it added shrilly, “It’s bleeding. Look at that gash!”
“Lick it, stupid,” the other one growled. “Why did you have to get in the way? I was just going to grab him.”
“Why didn’t you lie low?” the first voice snuffled. “He’d never have spotted us if you hadn’t jumped out like that. He didn’t the first time.”
“Cos I couldn’t stand it, see? I’m highly strung. Me nerves couldn’t take it.”
“There I lay, hardly breathing,” the first lubber hiccuped, “while he prowls up the room with his dog and his shovel.”
“Yeah. He’s vicious, that boy is. Vicious!”
There was a short silence.
“It’s all slimy in here,” lamented the first lubber. “I wish I’d brung me blanket. Where’s yours?”
“Left it behind,” said the second in a hollow voice. “Heartbreaking, innit? First blankets we ever had. Blankets, and beds, all nice and cozy … and look at us! Thrown out. Evicted by a nasty young thug with a dog and a shovel.” Its voice sharpened. “Oooh, a snail!” There was a slapping flurry of activity, and the wall shook against Peer’s ear.
“I want it! I oughter have it, cos I cut my leg,” shrieked the wounded lubber. “Got it,” it added, with a slurping crunch.
“Bet you’ll never see your blanket again!” said the first spitefully.
“If he steals it, I’ll kill him! Oooh, yes. I’ll chew him up and spit out the pieces! Blanket of his own means a lot to a person. I want my blanket!”
“Kiss good-bye to it. It’s his, now.”
Peer imagined sleeping in those bedclothes, and shuddered.
“But I wa-a-ant it!”
Peer straightened. He turned and ran through the nettles, across the yard, and without stopping for breath dived through the door and into the dark, stuffy mill. He groped his way to the nearest bunk bed, felt for the blanket, and jerked. It came up in stiff, stinking folds. It felt like something that had died and was rotting. He could hardly bring himself to touch t
he one on the other bed, but he did it, and dragged them both out into the yard. Black stuff showered off—wood lice, pieces of decaying wool, and mouse droppings.
“Hey!” he yelled at the top of his voice. “I’ve got your blankets here! And if you don’t come out, I’m going to throw them in the millpond!”
There was a shriek of alarm from inside the privy.
“So come and get them!” Peer shouted. “Both of you! I know you’re in there. Do you want me to come after you? With my dog and my shovel?”
He stopped, panting. He could hear the blood beating in his ears, the wind rustling in the bushes, the steady pouring of the water over the weir. Then there was a thud and a scraping sound from inside the privy. He strained his eyes through the gathering gloom. A lump appeared on the privy roof. It gathered and surged upward, becoming a spindly figure with a very large head and one flyaway ear, just visible against the dark trees.
Peer backed away a few steps. “Where’s your friend?” he called roughly. “Come on, I want both of you out of there.”
Slowly a second head emerged from the hole in the privy roof. It was pale and bald, and glimmered horribly in the dusk. He couldn’t make out any eyes and didn’t know if it was looking at him or not. He took another step back and nearly fell over Loki. Recovering, he brandished the blankets, and more pieces dropped off. “They’re here, see!” he called. “But you can’t have them till you’re out of the yard.”
The first lubber twisted over the edge and slithered down into the nettles with a squashy flump. The second followed reluctantly. There they crouched, gaping at Peer with dark, froglike mouths, and he stared back, quivering with revulsion. One of them hissed—a loud, startling noise. He flinched, and both lubbers twitched irresistibly forward. A moment’s loss of nerve and they would rush him.
“Out!” he yelled, waving the blankets like a banner. “Come on, Loki!” He ran at them, gripping the shovel in his left hand like a sword. Loki hurtled ahead, barking enthusiastically. The lubbers fled, screaming. Peer drove them before him, right out of the yard, across the lane, and into the wood. With all his strength, he flung the reeking folds after them. In a flash, the nearest turned and snatched up both blankets. In sly glee it gamboled away into the trees, lifting its bony knees high. The other limped after it, screaming. Peer bent to catch his breath, listening as the crashes and cries and howls got fainter and farther away.
Peer burst out laughing. “What cowards. They’ve gone! We’ve done it, Loki. We’ve cleared them out of the mill!”
It was the perfect ending to a difficult day. He turned back toward the mill, smiling. As he did so, there was a step behind him. A twig crunched; a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. For a second his heart stopped. But Loki was wriggling and wagging in ecstatic welcome—and Ralf’s voice said in hearty greeting:
“Peer, my lad! What on earth have you been doing?”
CHAPTER 7
A FAMILY ARGUMENT
RALF LISTENED IN amazement as Peer rattled off an account of his day.
“Well, I’ll be darned, I’ll be,” he exclaimed. “You chased off those lubbers, all by yourself?”
“Loki helped.” Peer dragged Ralf into the yard and showed him the cleared cobbles. “See, only a few hours work and I’ve made a big difference. It’s my mill, Ralf, and I’m sure I can do it. I remember how the machinery works. What do you think? Isn’t it a good idea?”
Ralf looked around at the dark buildings and hesitated. Peer’s high spirits sank. An owl hooted from the woods. The trees around the mill whispered, rubbing their branches together as though plotting something unpleasant. The yard was a dreary mess. And something scuttled along in the shadow of the wall.
Peer realized that he was hungry and cold, and his back ached.
“Let’s talk about it at home,” Ralf suggested, leading him out of the yard. “It’s late, and I’ve had a hard day. You, too!”
“What happened?” Peer asked awkwardly. “Is there any news?”
“No,” Ralf said as they crossed the wooden bridge. “Half the village turned out at low tide, and we combed the shore, right under the south cliffs. Not a sign of her. And Harald Bowlegs took his boat across the fjord to search the Long Strand on the other side. He found nothing. But Bjorn keeps insisting she isn’t dead. I wish he wouldn’t. People are beginning to look at him in a funny way. All sorts of rumors are flying around.”
“Like what?”
Ralf snorted. “Dreams, omens—all kinds of rubbish. There was a white fog on the fjord first thing this morning, and what must old Thorkell say but that he’s seen a boat gliding through it—but only half a boat, if you please, with a ghostly sail like shreds of mist, all tattering and curling. ‘The draug boat,’ he says, ‘coming for Bjorn now his luck is gone!’”
“Really?” Cold fingertips touched Peer’s spine.
“No one else saw it,” said Ralf, “and we all know Thorkell’s eyesight isn’t what it should be. And then Einar got going. He says he heard a voice crying in the dark last night, but when he looked out, there was no one there.”
“That could have been me!” said Peer, shamefaced.
“I thought it might.” Ralf nodded. “But now everyone’s at it. They’ve all seen or heard something strange. Raps and noises and strange messages.”
“Don’t you believe any of it?” asked Peer.
“There was a storm last night,” said Ralf. “Of course people heard noises!”
“But, Ralf.” Peer didn’t quite know how to say it. “You know there are trolls—and lubbers—and Granny Green-teeth in the millpond down there. Why shouldn’t these other things be true too?”
Ralf stopped. “They may be, Peer. Indeed they may. But we don’t need to rush to believe in them. Some folks enjoy looking for bad luck everywhere. A man makes his own destiny. That’s what I think.”
He gripped Peer’s shoulders, gave him a little shake, and strode on uphill. Peer walked after him, deep in thought.
A man makes his own destiny. And I will. I’m going to take Troll Mill and make myself a future!
They were nearly home now, coming out of the wood. Ahead was the farm, snuggling against the black hillside: just the outline of the shaggy turf roof and a whiff of smoke from the fire. Loki ran ahead, eager for his supper. Peer slowed down and let Ralf go into the house without him. He felt awkward about meeting Hilde.
What should he do? Apologize again? Or pretend the quarrel had never happened? Hello, Hilde, he could say. Had a good day? I did!
“Hello, Peer!” came a crisp voice behind him. Peer leaped like a shot deer and swung around. Hilde stood there, carrying the milk pail. “Back at last?” She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve missed evening milking. I shouldn’t have to do all your chores!”
“I’m s-sorry,” he stammered, reaching for the pail. “Let me carry that in for you.”
“No, never mind,” she said, setting it down. “I’m glad I saw you. Come with me, I want to say something.” She led him away from the farm toward the sheepfold, and he followed, his mind whirling.
She turned to face him, her eyes clear in the last of the twilight. “I was rude to you this morning, Peer. I shouldn’t have said what I did. And I’m sorry.”
You look like a heron! If I did think about anybody, it certainly wouldn’t be a little boy like you!
The words buzzed in the air around Peer’s head, and they stung just as much as they had that morning. He flushed and mumbled something, looking down.
“Ma said it was wrong,” continued Hilde. “She said it was unkind.”
Peer looked up, horrified. “You told your mother?”
“Oh, Peer, she overheard most of it!” said Hilde impatiently. “We weren’t exactly whispering, you know!”
“Yes, but—” He needed to impress her. He said boldly, almost boastfully, “I’ve been cleaning out the mill all day. I’m going to start working it again.”
“The mill?” Hilde stared. “You’re joking!”
“What’s wrong? Do you need me to tell you? Think about Granny Green-teeth! Think about the lubbers!”
“No problem,” said Peer airily. “I’ve thrown the lubbers out.”
“What do you mean?”
Peer explained, enjoying Hilde’s complete attention. She gave a satisfying gasp as he told how the lubbers had jumped out at him. And when he got to the bit about the blankets, she laughed out loud. “Brilliant! But did it work?”
“Oh yes.” Peer couldn’t help grinning. “One of them grabbed both blankets, and the other one chased it into the woods.”
Hilde became serious again. “But they won’t stay there, will they? They’re bound to come slinking back. Why be a miller? What’s it for? You don’t have to do this, Peer. You live with us.”
“Forever?” asked Peer. He watched as Hilde hesitated. “I’ve made my mind up,” he went on. “You don’t believe I can do it, but just wait and see!”
“Don’t be silly,” Hilde snapped. “I’m worried about you, that’s all.”
The last of the evening glow had faded. An owl hooted from the farmhouse gable, and the grass under the fence rustled as a mouse whisked into cover. Hilde’s face was visible only as a pale splotch. In the dark it was easier for Peer to say what he wanted.
“When I was at the mill this morning, I remembered what it was like to live there. How scared I was of my uncles. The way I crept about. I felt ashamed.”
“But they were great big men, and you were only twelve years old! It wasn’t your fault!” Hilde cried.
Peer shook his head. “And I want to take something back from them.”